


Life with the Dead

by Charon_the_Sabercat



Category: Book of Life (2014), Coco (2017), Grim Fandango
Genre: Canon diverges but not by a huge degree in most cases, Day of the Dead, Multi, dia de los muertos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23845063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charon_the_Sabercat/pseuds/Charon_the_Sabercat
Summary: A seedy criminal underworld lies in the heart of the Land of the Dead. Héctor and Manny are doing their best to make sure Miguel doesn't know a thing about it.(Book of Life/Coco/Grim Fandango crossover with an ensemble cast and a plot that covers a LOT of characters, but mostly Miguel so far.)
Relationships: Héctor Rivera/Imelda Rivera, Manny Calavera/Mercedes "Meche" Colomar
Comments: 16
Kudos: 26





	1. To the Land of the Dead (Miguel)

Miguel figured his life could only get worse if it was over. From where he was sitting now, it was hard to tell.

He had only been seizing his moment! Ernesto de la Cruz wouldn’t give bad advice, and Miguel had proof that he was Miguel’s great-great-grandfather, so that made his advice double good! He couldn’t help it that the tomb was locked. He couldn’t help it that his family hated music! It wasn’t his fault he had to break in to borrow his own family’s guitar!

So whatever was happening now? It felt like a punishment, but it couldn’t be. His own parents couldn’t see him, and nobody else could hear him. He tripped over stuff on the ground but couldn’t pick anything up to get someone’s attention. He panicked, and he ran… and he fell in a grave.

And his life might have been over, for real. Passing through people, invisible, couldn’t pick anything up… It was like he was a ghost. He might have been dead, but he still felt perfectly alive, and if he felt alive but was really dead, then… thinking about it too hard made his head hurt. He squeezed his head in his hands and tried to rock the freak-out away.

He felt a little better when he heard a dog barking. He knew that one bark perfectly: his favorite dog, Dante. Maybe he was looking for him? Miguel called him from the bottom of the grave.

“Dante!”

There he was instantly, the best dog in the world, along with another person! She was all dark and shadowed from the candles and fireworks, but she made that surprised abuelita noise when she saw him. She could see him! And she could talk to him!

“Miguel? What are you doing down there?”

Did he know her? Maybe he did. Miguel jumped for her hand when she reached down to pull him up. “I don’t know? I was running, and nobody could see me, and I couldn’t touch them-”

She pulled him out, and Miguel saw bones.

So he screamed.

Then she screamed, and he fell backward into the grave when she let go. Dante barked at him all worried, and he was right back where he started except now there was a skeleton lady yelling about him.

“Julio! Julio, he’s alive!”

“He’s alive?!” said a voice who might have been Julio. Another person looked down at him from above, and the fireworks lit them both: two skeletons, one Julio and one the lady. “And he can see you?!”

“I touched him! Plain as night, I touched him!” the lady fussed. “But he’s not dead!”

Miguel knew a Julio, but it couldn’t have been _that_ Julio. The more he looked, though, the more the skeletons felt familiar. Especially with the clothes they wore… They almost looked like…

“Tía Rosita?” said Miguel. “Y Papá Julio? But you’re both dead.”

Papá Julio answered back, “And you’re supposed to be alive, mijo! Come up here-”

They both pulled him out of the grave this time, and now that Miguel wasn’t terrified, he could look at them a little better. It really was them, just like on the ofrenda, just… less alive. Or maybe more alive? He knew them from the pictures in the hallways and the ofrenda, always the same face, never moving or talking. Now Tía Rosita was fussing over him and hugging him like his abuela Elena did, and Papá Julio kept poking him in the arm.

“I don’t know!” he said. “He acts pretty dead!”

“Don’t say that, ‘mano! He’s so young!”

“I only say it ‘cause he’s still mostly alive!” Papá Julio pinched his cheek.

“I-I don’t remember dying?” said Miguel. “So maybe I didn’t?”

“Oh that doesn’t necessarily-”

There were more skeletons all around them- they’d been staring for a while- but only one of the walked up and started talking to them. It was definitely Tía Victoria, because she was just as tall and mean as she looked in her photo. “What are you doing here?”

“Hola, Tía Victoria...” Miguel waved and tried to smile. He didn’t really think it would make her less scary, but maybe she would stop glaring at him.

She didn’t. She just put her hand on her hip and poked at him like Papá Julio. “Why can he see me?”

“He might be dead,” said Papá Julio.

“You stop that!” Tía Rosita covered his ears.

“Oye! Rosita! Julio!”

“Victoria, listen up!”

Here come two more skeletons, a pair of skinny twins in hats. Tíos Oscar and Felipe, obviously. Miguel was getting the hang of this. They ran out of the crowd out of breath. Miguel wondered how that worked.

“I-it’s Imelda!” said Oscar.

“She can’t cross over!” said Felipe. “She tried armfuls of marigolds and none of them worked!

“She’s gone to the D.O.D.! And she’s furious!” said Oscar.

“Oh, hola, Miguel,” said Felipe.

“Hola,” said Miguel.

“Hola,” said Oscar.

Then Oscar and Felipe both yelped. Miguel had heard so many people yell today that he was getting bored of it.

“Oh, hey!” said Papá Julio. “The D.O.D.! They can probably fix thing thing with Miguel, too!”

“But can we even bring him to the D.O.D.?” asked Tía Victoria. “He doesn’t know the way, and he hasn’t died to be reaped.”

“Well, I don’t know! Maybe he can do it?” Papá Julio reached down and scooped up a handful of marigold petals from a grave, then put them into Miguel’s hands. “Here, mijo, try throwing these into the air!”

Miguel felt kinda stupid. He tossed the petals into the air. They fluttered down around his head. Everybody was quiet. Tía Rosita hugged him.

“Well, okay. That didn’t work.” Papá Julio shrugged. “So we’ll walk to the D.O.D.!”

Felipe and Oscar nearly wailed. “But that would take hours!”

The D.O.D., whatever it was, sounded kind of important and kind of scary. Miguel got out of Tía Rosita’s hug and pulled Dante close to him. Having him around, with a pulse and real skin, kept him calm enough to speak up. “What’s the D.O.D.?”

Tío Felipe began, “It’s the Department of Death.”

“They’re in charge of gathering the newly dead souls from the Land of the Living,” said Tío Oscar. “And showing them the way to the afterlife.”

Tía Rosita held his shoulders when he started to feel sick. “And they’re all very nice people, Miguel. They’ll know you’re not supposed to be dead yet and get you back to your family in no time!”

Miguel started to feel worse. “My family...”

Papá Julio smiled. “Yeah, and you’ll like them anyway! They drive these big, shiny black cars- you like cars, right, Miguel?”

“Not a lot...” A shiny black car, huh? Considering one was driving up now, literally through the crowd of regular people, Miguel could make a pretty good guess. “There’s one.”

It was cool because it reminded him of a De la Cruz movie. The car was one of those super old kinda ones that were all curvy, like mobsters drove. Out of the car came one more skeleton, one he didn’t recognize at all. He wore a long black cloak with a hood, and in his hand, he held a scythe taller than he was. Dante whimpered next to him, and Miguel pulled him into a big hug to keep from passing out.

“It’s the Grim Reaper!”

The Grim Reaper laughed. “Not ‘the’ Reaper, kid. Just one of them. I’m looking for a Mr. Miguel Rivera.”

Tía Rosita held him tight. Now they were a chain; a skeleton holding a boy holding a dog. “This is him! But he hasn’t died, señor! There’s been a mistake!”

“Don’t worry, miss.” The Reaper stood back and held the car door open for them. “Well get this all sorted out along with Miss Imelda back at the office.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” said Papá Julio. “I was so tired of thinking hard already!”

Tía Victoria took his other shoulder and, together, marched him into the car along with Dante. The Reaper didn’t look too happy about it, but the more he glared, the tighter Miguel hung on. The closer he held to the one friend he had, the better he felt, because Dante was hot and hairy where his Tías were pointy and room-temperature. His whole family piled into the car with him and sat down together on the big round leather seats. Only Miguel and Dante sunk into the cushion.

“Thank you so much for this, Señor Reaper,” said Papá Julio.

The Reaper got into the car last. “Please. Mr. Hurley will do just fine.”

It was such a normal name for a grim reaper. The car drove off, and then up into a road of marigolds that spiraled up into the sky. Nobody talked, and like all Rivera family car rides, the radio stayed off.


	2. To the Department of Death (Imelda)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imelda has a lot of things to consider tonight.

Imelda had been in the Department of Death, right at the door of the man in charge, for two hours, and no one of any importance would speak with her, and she had _had_ it!

“There is absolutely no reason why I shouldn’t be able to cross over!” She had to get this into the head of this thick-headed secretary eventually. “My family puts up my photo every single year, and I refuse to believe that this year, out of all the years, they decide to ignore me!”

The secretary clasped her hands together. “Terribly sorry, Mrs. Rivera, but if the marigolds didn’t work, then something must have changed.”

“There is no reason for anything to change!!!” she screamed. “And if you cannot get me proof that something has, then so help me, I am taking my complaint directly to La Muerte, and she can hear about every second of your insubordination-!”

The elevator dinged, and just like every time it had in the last two hours, Imelda stopped to check it. It wasn’t that stupid, short little man this time: her family spilled out of the elevator doors with a Reaper and Miguel in their-

Her thoughts stopped in their tracks. “Miguel!? What is Miguel doing here?? And why is he alive?!”

“Well, that’s...” Julio wrung his hat. “We don’t know. We found him on the way to the ofrenda-”

“You didn’t even make it to the ofrenda?!”

“Mrs. Rivera.” The good Reaper, the Mr. Hurley that had been so helpful before he left for business, stood before them all. “I think I might be able to help in this situation. Now, if everyone will please join me in my office. We’ll have some drinks and get this all sorted out.”

“Finally!” Imelda snapped back on the secretary. “Someone who can actually do something about this!”

Mr. Hurley ushered them all into his office. Imelda watched Miguel like a hawk. What a shame it was to see him here, looking like that on Dia de Muertos. Plain clothes, slouching, carting around a street dog; an embarrassment! He should carry himself like a Rivera, like the good side of his family.

Before she could say a world, Mr. Hurley stopped Miguel with the handle of his scythe. “Ah, I’m afraid no children or pets allowed in my office, ma’am.”

“What?! That is ridiculous!”

“Hey, look!” Felipe, in the office, was already holding up a bottle of scotch. “This was bottled before we were born! And we can have this?”

“As much as you’d like, sir,” said Mr. Hurley. “Now, where were we, Mrs. Rivera?”

Well… the man did keep spirits in his office. Imelda didn’t partake, and he certainly didn’t want Miguel following Felipe’s lead. She turned and shushed Miguel out the door. “You heard the Reaper, Miguel.”

Miguel pushed back against her. “But-”

“No buts, Miguel!” Imelda shoved right back, leading him into a chair in the hallway across from the office. “Something has gone very wrong tonight, and I will deal with you when we are done speaking with Mr. Hurley.”

“But-!”

“You stay out here!” Imelda whipped around to the worthless secretary. “And you! Keep an eye on him! I will be done shortly!”

“Of course, Mi-”

She didn’t have time for this. Imelda slammed the door shut behind her.

Mr. Hurley kept a beautiful office. Lovely rich blues, clean carpet, nice furniture… Julio offered up the one seat when she came to sit down in front of his clean metal desk. Mr. Hurley took his chair on the other side and placed his scythe out of the way. His alebrijes roosted high on top of his devil box’s screen; great black crows with human skulls for heads.

“Well, now that everyone’s here, I think we can start talking business. You were saying, before I had to rush out, Mrs. Rivera?”

She sighed from having to start over again. “My marigolds are not working, and I cannot cross over to see my family.”

“Aaah. See, I knew something odd was up when I saw Miguel’s name on my computer.”

“What?” Imelda leaned in. “Why is that?”

“Well, because it matched yours, you see.”

Imelda never liked those hideous devil boxes the D.O.D. kept everywhere. Mr. Hurley typed away at his for a second or two before it made a picture appear in its glass window. It showed her family ofrenda, clean and beautiful, but empty of life. Her family was nowhere near it, and the offerings were missing… along with her photo. “Now, our alebrijes have scoped out your family ofrenda since I headed out. Turns out, your photo has been stolen.”

The family gasped. Imelda hadn’t felt a rage this powerful since she was alive; she couldn’t help but stand and pound at the desk. “What do you mean ‘stolen’?! By who?!”

The human-headed alebrije ruffled its feathers and spoke in her granddaughter Elena’s voice. “ _You haven’t found him yet?! He has Mamá Imelda’s photo!_ ”

Felipe shuddered. “Ooo, that gives me the heeby-jeebies!”

“It’s not a hard connection to make...” Mr. Hurley gently shrugged and leaned back into his chair. “Miguel here seems like he’s made a few poor decisions tonight. No doubt we can pop out into the hallway, search his pockets, and find your family photo.”

“But why would he do such a thing?” asked Rosita. “He’s such a good little boy!”

“Now, see, that’s where another important piece of information comes into play.” Mr. Hurley hit another button. The devil box changed pictures to the graveyard of Santa Cecilia, and it’s horrid monument to Ernesto de la Cruz. Her idiot husband’s equally idiotic musician friend who made it rich with her husband’s music… the fact that he had a gaudy grave in the same graveyard as her family made her sick to her stomach whenever she was reminded of it. It did her heart well to see its window smashed. Maybe someone came to their senses. “See that broken window? Miguel did that.”

The entire family scrambled with shouts of “He did WHAT?”

“ _Somebody stole De la Cruz’s guitar!_ ” said the alebrije. “ _The window’s broken, too!_ ”

“But why would he steal a guitar?!” worried Julio.

Her mind lingered on her husband. “… to play it.”

“Looks like you have a little budding musician in your family,” Mr. Hurley purred with a smug, satisfied smile. “What is it you folks say? Fell-leasy-dades?”

“This is unacceptable.” Imelda fumed in her chair. “I cannot let Miguel go back into the Land of the Living thinking he can get away with playing music like a degenerate!”

Mr. Hurley tented his fingers and leaned into the desk. “Now, how would you like to skip this whole debacle?”

“I don’t like the way this sounds...” said Victoria.

Mr. Hurley hit one more button on the devil box. It popped open a draw under his desk, and he reached inside and pulled out a treasure: a golden Number Nine ticket.

Imelda was in awe. It sent her family muttering and whispering. None of them had ever seen a real Number Nine ticket, not even in passing. The hand-sized train tickets were often whispered about: they could gain a soul instant access to the Ninth Underworld, the Land of Eternal Rest. They were saved for saints. Only the purest could earn them. Mr. Hurley held it still, almost like he was waiting for something, and Imelda leaned in close to inspect the thing. It shone so clear and clean that she could see her reflection in it even as she read.

It bore Miguel’s name.

She couldn’t believe it. “No...”

“Mrs. Rivera, at his age, Miguel’s still considered pure of heart.” Mr. Hurley tucked the ticket away. “Hell, I’m kind of surprised he hasn’t sprouted wings yet.”

“B-but he’s not dead!” Rosita begged. “He can’t be! He’s so young!”

“And yet, here he is.” Mr. Hurley shrugged. “Maybe the important part is that he’s not alive, more than not being dead.”

Oscar made some little unhappy noise behind her. “I don’t know about this...”

“It’s too early!” said Rosita.

Julio came forward. “Señor Hurley, you’re not suggesting that-”

“All I’m saying is, he’s obviously not getting the kind of guidance he needs back in the Living World. I mean, not if he’s seriously considering being a _musician_ , am I right?” Hurley gestured to the door. “I can always send your photo back with an alebrije. You know how the living are: it’ll be a little miracle that the photo made it home, and you can go back next year. But your grandson’s chance to get into the Ninth Underworld, before the world corrupts him and makes him take the long walk...”

“Imelda...” Victoria warned.

Imelda thumped the desk. Not too much; she didn’t slam it, or get out her shoe, she only thumped it. “I need to hear his side before I make a decision. Miguel needs to be let into this office.”

Mr. Hurley gave one last grand shrug. “Eh, you know what? Fair’s fair. Let me buzz him in.”

Imelda was already up and heading for the door. She threw it open, ready to get her photo back and learn what exactly had happened that night. “Miguel!”

Miguel was gone.


	3. In the Department of Death (Miguel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Children have no appreciation for art deco.

The Department of Death was basically a big gross bank. It made Miguel so mad: the drive here had passed by giant light-up buildings, parades, toy vendors, and clowns, and actual real-live dead bands, and glowing flying alebrijes… and his family brought him to a bank. Even the dead Riveras hated fun and music.

It wasn’t really a bank, technically, but it was gross like one. Everything was too super-clean and hard, all polished and straight-lined and stinking like soap and cigarettes. The halls were completely empty except for one secretary lady typing at a desk, so really it was a bank mixed with an empty school, so it was double awful.

And then Miguel figured, no, it was triple awful, because he barely got even one look at Mamá Imelda before she got super angry and shut herself up in Mr. Hurley’s office with everybody except him and Dante, because Mr. Hurley didn’t want a dog or a kid in his office. Miguel would up sat in his chair, with Dante pulled into a big pile on his lap, just sitting there and waiting.

It was like a bank, empty school, and a teacher conference. Basically his worst nightmare.

The secretary lady finally talked to him. Mamá Imelda had kind of yelled at her to watch after him, he guessed, but he still felt kind of weird when she spoke up. “You’ve still got a lot of meat on you, son? What’s your story?”

Miguel shrugged. He didn’t really know how to answer that. “I think I might still be alive?”

“That’s a new one,” she said. “You’re probably hungry.” She took a little candy out of a bowl on her desk. “You want one?”

Dante sniffed at the candy, then got bored and decided to sniff his ear instead. Miguel shook his head. “No gracias.” He watched her eat it instead. “How do you do that without a stomach?”

“Things around here are better left unanswered, sweetie. There’s a lot of things we leave up to the gods. In the meantime, we keep our candy.” The secretary threw him one underhanded, which he caught. “I’m Eva, by the way.”

“Hola, Señorita Eva...”

“I’m a Miss Eva, sweetie, I grew up in New Jersey. You’ll get used to that lack of a language barrier eventually, don’t worry.” Eva nodded to him, then again to someone behind him. “Miss Colomar. Didn’t go too well, I take it?”

Miguel turned around to see Miss Colomar. She was another skeleton lady, like… everybody here, really, but even as a skeleton she was pretty, and tall. She seemed very sad, though, from the way she held her face and how she kind of wilted when Eva talked. “No, Miss Eva, it didn’t… I didn’t earn a ticket for the Number Nine.”

“Oh that’s a shame, honey. Have a little rest before you head out, so I can get you started.”

Miss Colomar took the seat next to him. Dante whimpered and rested his head on her leg. If Dante was worried about her, she must have been really upset. Miguel figured, hey, maybe…

He held out his little candy. “Here. You can have this.”

Miss Colomar took it from him. “Thank you, niño, for thinking of m- Oh my goodness! You’re alive!”

“Yeah?” Miguel was struck by how long it took her to notice.

“Well look at your hand!”

He did, and his heart dropped into his gut. He could still just barely see the outline of his skin, glowing just a little orange, but his fingers were see-through down to the bone. He couldn’t work up the nerve to scream. He just made a big whimper noise that made Dante freak out and try to lick his entire face.

From inside the office, Mamá Imelda screamed. “He did WHAT?!”

Miss Colomar and Miss Eva both flinched along with him, although Eva recovered a little more.

“Oo, sounds juicy. What’d you do, sweetie?”

Miguel just hung on tighter to Dante. “I-I had to break a window to borrow my great-great-grandfather’s guitar...”

“If he was your great-great-grandfather, then that means that window...”

She knew. Miguel sighed. “He’s dead, he wasn’t using it...”

Miss Colomar clicked the tongue she didn’t have. “Oh, niño...”

“That’s a good way to get cursed, kid,” warned Miss Eva.

“Cursed?” he gasped.

Mamá Imelda’s voice leaked through the door again. “...cannot have him go back to the Land of the Living-!”

Miss Eva pulled some little glass cups off of her desk and spun one in her hands, quickly getting up to give it to Miguel. “I think this calls for a little subterfuge.”

“Miss Eva, is that a shot glass?”

“Nope, it’s three.”

Miguel looked back and forth between the women. “What’s a shot glass?”

“For your purposes?” Eva nudged his shoulder. “Go put the open side on the door and put your ear on the bottom. We’re listening in.”

“This doesn’t seem entirely legal,” said Miss Colomar.

Miss Eva shrugged. “What are they gonna do, make you walk longer?”

Miguel just did what Miss Eva told him to, and it worked like a charm. He could hear everything that came through the door… but he couldn’t understand most of it. Mr. Hurley talked a little bit, something about an alebrije sending the photo in his pocket back home and him going… to…

Miss Eva grabbed his shoulders hard and looked him right in the eyes. “ _Run._ ”

“Wha-?”

“Both of you, run. _Run now_.” Miss Eva jumped to her feet and started pushing Miss Colomar too. “Out, get to the street level and I’ll catch back up with you later. Go! Hurry!”

“But- Miss Eva-” Miss Colomar grabbed at his shoulder. “I-I don’t know which way to-”

Miguel just bolted straight for the elevator, and when it didn’t open right away he went past it and onto the stairs, Dante right at his heels. His heart was beating in his ears. Mam- Imelda- she wanted to sell him out! She was gonna put him on a train to the afterlife just for playing the guitar! He and Dante flew down the stairs three at a time, slamming into the opposite wall to turn with a big whuff of air out of his lungs. Dante’s feet scratched and scrambled on the stone floors, and he couldn’t even wait for him to catch up. All he knew was his family wanted him dead, to stay dead here, and he didn’t even know how to get back other than Julio said he could walk there in a few hours-

He was out the front door and into the streets, where it was dark as night and glowing with city lights, and within two steps of hitting the concrete, he ran into a skeleton and broke him.

“I’m sorry!” he immediately shouted. “I’m sorry- I just have to go! I didn’t mean to-”

“Ey ey- chamaco! It’s okay! Kid calm-” The skeleton pulled himself back together from pieces on the ground. His clothes were ratty and torn, and he walked barefoot. “Ah! You’re alive!”

“Yeah and I wanna stay alive!” he blurted out. “But my great-great-grandma wants me to stay dead so I can’t play guitar and I don’t wanna walk for three hours-”

“Woah- woahwoahwoahwoah- okay let’s-” The skeleton lead him away by the shoulder, while Dante hopped along beside them with his tail wagging. “Let’s get you over here and off the street, okay? And you can explain everything to me in nice _little_ words, how about that? And maybe, we can get you back to the Land of the Living, yeah? You wanna be there, _I_ wanna be there-”

“Wait, you wanna be there?” Miguel asked.

“Right! So, let’s make some introductions, huh?” The skeleton held out his hand. “My name’s Héctor.”


	4. Just some fresh-faced little kid (Héctor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And thus Héctor finds himself toting around a kid and a dog on one of the most important nights of his life.

The Dia de Muertos parade was still going strong, even this time of night. Héctor had gotten desensitized to it over the years, but he still felt a good bit of resentment whenever he had to find a way around the main drag through town, on foot, just because of the stupid twenty-four hour long parade. The only good thing about it was that everyone was there, which meant things were easy to… borrow, for his purposes.

Like, for instance, pan de muertos. It was free, of course- little stubby guy came up and got a loaf just before him- but the shoe shine man didn’t know that he knew that. So it was just a matter of making an obvious show out of “sneaking” a loaf of bread, expressing gratitude for the guy snapping that of course it was free pendejo, and then making off both with food and the two cans of shoe polish he nabbed with his other hand while they weren’t looking.

He’d bring them back later! Right now, he needed them for the little chamaco in the alley. He was waiting for him, too, him and his maybe-alebrije, hiding behind a trash can. Héctor split the loaf, giving the small half to the dog and the other to little Miguel. “See, look! Two problems solved at once, just like you can do for me!”

Miguel looked at the bread with suspicion. “You stole this.”

“Noooo, chamaco, the bread was free!” Then he held up the shoe polish. “I stole _this_. But, it’s either that, or everybody you walk by today screams. Now, you gonna raise a fuss?”

Miguel sat himself right down on a box. “No señor!”

“Good! Now, you eat before I paint your face, and I’m going to explain to you some things. Now!” All right, white shoe polish in one hand, black shoe polish in the other. “Okay, let’s say the white is the Land of the Living. That’s where you’re from! That’s where I’m going. I’ve gotta get back there tonight so I can see my family, and everything will be absolutely perfect from there. BUT!”

He went back to the black shoe polish. “Here, we have the Land of the Dead. Now, you can live here as long as you want!”

Miguel stopped eating his bread. “Live?”

Oh, so the kid thought he was smart. Great. Héctor huffed. “Easy there, sabelotodo. My point is, you can exist here indefinitely as long as someone in the living world remembers you, and you can visit it on Dia de Muertos as long as someone puts you photo up.”

“You know, my family keeps pictures of our dead relatives up in the hallway all year round,” said Miguel. “Do you not have any of those?”

“Aye, no. That would be great if that worked!” Maybe the kid actually was smart, but he had to know the rules, or else this plan would never work. He put the shoe polish down so he could properly gesticulate. “But it doesn’t- it has to be on an ofrenda on Dia de Muertos.”

“But why?”

Hector clawed at his skull. “ _I don’t know why, kid,_ it just does! That’s the infuriating part! But that’s part of my plan! I get you back to the Land of the Living with one of my photos, and then you put up my photo on your family ofrenda-”

And then Miguel started to balk. “Eeh...”

“Wha- what, kid? What’s the matter?”

“I kinda… ran away from home.”

Oh… well this changed things a good bit. The kid didn’t look like a runaway or anything, he was too chubby-cheeked and well fed, but maybe he was. Héctor was waylaid for a second, trying to think of what to say to that while Miguel nibbled at his bread and his dog, fed and bored, lied down on his feet.

“Ah...” Maybe he just needed to approach this delicately. “So… how long ago?”

“A couple hours-”

“Aye! Chamaco, you had me worried there!” Héctor thumped his shoulder. “That’s not so bad! You make it up to them, you put up my photo, and everything will be fine!”

“I don’t wanna make it up to them!” Miguel nearly jumped down his throat for that. “You heard what my dead family’s like! They’d rather me be dead than be a musician!”

“WELL, okay, maybe your dead family are burros!” said Héctor. “It’s not out of the question! I mean, they’re here instead of in the Ninth Underworld-”

“And that’s another thing!” Miguel interrupted. “Why’s the Ninth Underworld so great anyway? Why would my family want me there instead of playing music in the real world-”

“Okay okay cálmese!” Héctor took both his shoulders and patted them, nice and gentle, trying to get Miguel to breath again. Kid was halfway to having a panic attack; he could tell, eyes all dewy and manic. Even the dog was trying to cool him down by jamming his head into his lap. “Cálmese. I don’t know what’s up with your family, okay? I’m not gonna try and guess. But the Ninth Underworld isn’t a bad place. It’s calm there, and it’s peaceful. It’s where all dead souls want to go eventually, when they feel like they’re through in the Land of the Dead. But you’re not ready for that yet, right?”

Miguel shook his head. “No...”

“Good! Then I won’t make you go, and nobody else will!”

“Then why didn’t you go?”

“Because I need to go to the Land of the Living,” he explained again. “At least once. I haven’t been back in years, and I have to see my family one more time before I can even sleep soundly at night, Miguel!”

“I mean…” Miguel thought on it. “Maybe I can put your photo up on someone else’s ofrenda?”

“That could work!” He was a smart kid after all! “It could be anyone’s! It could be a public one!”

Miguel gasped. “I can put you on the De la Cruz one, in the town square!”

Everywhere he went, De la Cruz- even in the Land of the Living, it was De la Cruz! Héctor wailed into his hat, and Miguel tapped on his arm.

“Is that a problem?”

“Ernesto’s the problem!” Héctor hissed. “That rotten jerk!”

“You know him?”

“I knew him when he was alive!” he explained. “Nobody believes me! ‘Oh you’re just saying that because he’s famous!’ Do I look like some beatnik name-dropping poser? I knew him before he got big!”

Miguel’s eyes were lighting up. “And he knew you?”

Héctor scoffed. “I taught him everything he knows!”

“He’s my great-great-grandfather!”

Wait that didn’t… make sense. Ernesto never married. Héctor’s brain stopped. Was this kid legitimate? I mean, he didn’t necessarily have to be married. Why would this one particular one know Ernesto was his great-great-grandfather and not any other one? Then again, how many could Ernesto possibly have? Was this one of those modern technology things he didn’t know about? Wait, would Miguel even follow through with the plan if he had just been badmouthing his family? He was already badmouthing his family, though, but the bad family that wanted him to take the Number Nine to the Ninth Underworld-

“Héctor?”

“Wait- what? Right.” Héctor shook himself with a rattle. “Sorry, that was… a lot to process.”

“I know, right?” Miguel nearly bounced in his chair… box. “I freaked out when I learned too! It was like my whole life suddenly made sense. I must have inherited music from him, when my living family hates music-”

“WAIT! I’ve got it!” Héctor grabbed onto Miguel in joy! “Ernesto probably has a _car_!”

Miguel shrugged. “I mean, maybe? Why?”

“He could drive you back to the Land of the Living!”

“What, you don’t have a license?”

Héctor shrugged and let him go. “A lot of the dead can’t afford cars! And I don’t have a license.”

“So what does a car do?”

Héctor mimed out walking on his arm. “It saves us a seven hour walk through a forest of flaming demon beavers between here and the Living World!”

And that, he was sure, was where he lost him, because Miguel looked at him with a look at blank as the sides of these buildings. “Flaming demon beavers.”

“It sounds like something you’d make up, but I’m not making it up, and they eat people.” Héctor shrugged. “I mean, when you died, they picked you up in a car, right?”

“I didn’t die!” Miguel trailed off. “But they did pick me up in a car.”

“See?”

“So, wait, if you bring me to my great-great-grandpa...” Miguel put the pieces together aloud. “Then he could give me a ride back to the Land of the Living… and then I put up your photo- Why not just hitch a ride with me?”

At that, Héctor struggled with the words. “Because your great-great-grandpa… kiiind of started hating me after he got famous.”

“He wouldn’t do that!”

“Hey, celebrity does weird things to people,” Héctor warned. “Makes them crazy, forget what’s important, abandon their friends-”

“Well then how am I gonna get to him if you can’t bring me?”

“Ah-” Oh he hadn’t thought of that. Hmm. Héctor picked up the shoe polish again. “Well, the first step is a disguise!”

Miguel wasn’t dissuaded. “And after the disguise?”

“I am still… figuring that out. Ernesto only surrounds himself with the best and brightest- that means the most famous and richest by the way- and getting to see him is near impossible. Trust me, I’ve tried...”

Miguel looked over his shoulder. “What about that?”

He followed Miguel’s pointing arm. One of the parade balloons was inching by; a giraffe draped with a banner advertising a music competition a few blocks over. The winner, it advertised, would play at Ernesto de la Cruz’s Sunlight Spectacular.

“Wow...” Héctor mused. “That’s convenient. Hope the contest is still going… wait what am I saying? It’s a music competition!”

Miguel raised his hand. “I play guitar! Can we get a guitar?”

Hope was starting to shine through the parade floats. Or maybe that was fireworks, he didn’t know. But… it was a long shot. It was slightly less impossible than him making the walk to the Land of the Living himself…

“Okay…” Héctor sighed. “Okayokayokay, let’s get your face on, and we’ll head out to get a guitar. Time’s not on our side here.”


	5. The Lord of Rot (Miguel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dead can remain for a long time, but they're not meant to stay forever...

Miguel could kind of tell that Héctor wasn’t in good shape already from his clothes and stuff, but he didn’t think it was this bad. When Héctor mentioned that they had to go back to his place to get a guitar, he was expecting, like, a van or maybe a gross apartment. He even had the thought, hey, following a stranger back to his house was probably something his Abuelita would throw a fit over. The further they walked, the darker the Land of the Dead got, and the buildings around them got bigger and bigger bricks. They looked like… Chichén Itzá or something.

And then they just kept going down, and even the Chichén Itzá looking buildings started to turn into water and rocks, and it just kept going down. Planks of half-rotten wood loosely collected into a staircase and ramp, and his knees started to shake both from fear and from how badly put together they were. Héctor kept walking, and Miguel and Dante went further down.

Héctor lived in a slum. It was a whole endless village of little broken houses and gangplanks connecting them, sprawled out over an inky black ocean that went on forever. If it weren’t for the candles in the shack windows and Héctor walking ahead of him, Miguel wouldn’t be able to see where the boards turned into water, and even then sometimes it was dangerously close. They sunk low in some places, splashing water into the soles of his shoes.

“This is where you live?”

Héctor shrugged. “Eh, it’s where a lot of nearly-forgotten folk live.”

“But why?”

“Well, see-” Héctor’s hands wiggled and moved while he talked, and Miguel did his best to keep up. “Back in the day, the food left on your ofrenda was the only food you got for the entire year.”

“That’s awful!”

“We’re dead! We don’t need to eat!” Héctor explained. “But it’s nice! And it would give you energy for your journey to the Ninth Underworld. But nowadays, because most of the dead just kind of hang around in El Marrow until they can visit their families, stuff from your ofrenda- food, gifts, clothes, even the wood the ofrenda’s made out of- just gets… sold! Or traded, or whatever.”

That didn’t seem right, selling the gifts your family left for you. Miguel felt awful about it, but he could tell that if he told Héctor that, it might make him mad. So, another question: “What’s El Marrow?”

Héctor turned him around by his shoulders and then gestured to the entire city, with its towers and skyscrapers going to high up Miguel couldn’t see the top even if he nearly turned his head upside down. “All of that. That is El Marrow.”

“Oh.”

“So if you don’t have a photo-” Héctor turned him back around and kept walking. “Then you can’t get your gifts, and you can’t make any money, and you wind up… here.”

“Wait, if you have to pay money for the gifts, then that must mean you have jobs!” said Miguel. “You can’t get a job either?”

“Oh no I had one, for a little while!” said Héctor with a little smile. “Me and a buddy of mine ran a celebrity tour bus!” And the smile disappeared. “Nobody came.”

“Why not?”

Héctor sighed. “Word got around that we didn’t go to De la Cruz’s house. I’m banned. And my reserves just kind of… dried up. And I couldn’t get another job after that, not looking like…”

Miguel took another look out at the slums, and he started noticing the people sitting outside those shacks. They were all barely dressed, and their clothes were dull and tattered on the edges. His hoodie stuck out as bright and comfortable and warm, and it wasn’t even new when he got it. It almost embarrassed him- no, it just made him ashamed, and for the first time that night, he was really missing his living family. Miguel stuffed his hands in his pockets and kept his head low.

Héctor watched him, worried. “Hey, hey, chamaco, it’s okay. You know, the dead just aren’t meant to linger this long, I don’t think. I mean, who wants to die just to go back to work, huh? When I see my family tonight, I think I’ll finally start my long walk to the Ninth Underworld, and open up the space for somebody else.”

“But...” Miguel didn’t know what to say. Héctor was kind of weird, and he stole things, but Miguel could see why he had to and it was awful. Compared to how the rest of the dead lived… now he was saying it… Héctor just deserved better. All these people did, and he didn’t even know who they were. And if Héctor was telling the truth, about them being half-forgotten, then did nobody on normal Earth know their names either? Miguel couldn’t walk for a few steps from thinking too hard. “That’s not fair.”

“Hey- chamaco, hey.” Héctor patted his shoulders. “I know. Death isn’t fair, just, on principle, you know? But that’s why you’re helping me, and I’m helping you. Stuff isn’t fair on its own: we have to be fair _to each other._ Verdad?”

Dante whimpered and barked, and something beside him slithered in the water, and Miguel was done.

“ _Héctor!_ ”

“What’s the matter?” Héctor turned around and followed his line of sight. “Oh don’t worry! That’s an alebrije, they’re everywhere.”

“But it slithered!” Miguel wanted to go and grab Dante to keep him safe but he was scared to move in the same breath. “I think it’s a snake!”

“It’s okay, a lot of alebrijes are part snake!” Héctor thumped his shoulders and pulled away, walking backwards and coaxing him along. “Come on! You can do it! Good little kid!”

Now he was scared of snakes _and_ mad. “Cut that out! I’m not a puppy!”

“Well do you want a guitar or not?” Héctor snapped back. “We can’t get you to your great-great-grandpa without one!”

In both his ears, from both sides at the same time, the water spoke. “Now, I wouldn’t say that...”

Héctor backed up fast, almost screaming and falling halfway in the water after his foot slipped. But the water was clearing up fast, as if all the black was being sucked up into a single place behind him, and Miguel turned just as Dante jumped into his arms. The dark of the water went up, growing feather wings and little pinpricks of green light that turned into candles and long, white whiskers. A head and a crown grew out of the top, looking down on him with red pupils set in big, green eyes.

And it talked in that same voice, that super-deep evil voice, and it was the coolest thing Miguel had ever seen. “Happy Day of the Dead, Héctor! _Again_.”

“You go away!” Héctor yelled. “I tell you every year, NO, and it’s always gonna be no, and I’m not interested-”

“And I keep telling you, Héctor!” The big-tall-monster-guy slunk back into the water, trailing a tail of black that slithered behind him like a snake, and came back up behind Héctor so he could hold his shoulders. “I’m here to help, not to make trouble!”

Héctor jumped away from him screaming and felt right against Miguel, shattered, and dropped into the water.

Miguel yelped and hugged Dante tight. “Héctor!”

“Oh he’ll be fine!” said the big-tall-monster-guy. He loomed over Miguel’s and kept a hand on his shoulder; he smelled like a mix of a new road and rotten eggs. “He does this every year; it’s so _dramatic_.”

Even now, Miguel could see Héctor’s yellow bones getting picked up one by one by thin ropes of darkness, coming up from the water. So the big-tall-monster-guy was catching him? That was… nice? Miguel watched him closer, the big slimy tall monster slug guy, while Dante tried to sniff him and then gagged. “So who are you?”

The big-tall-slug-monster-smelly-guy glared at him, and grew extra eyes in his eyes- except he didn’t, because his eyes were skulls and now the skulls were looking at him with their black, empty sockets…

And the guy just grabbed his hood with one finger and pulled it down. “Who wants to know, living boy?”

Héctor was starting to come back out of the water in pieces, and the little tentacles of big-tall-slug-monster-smelly-guy were putting him back together. Miguel tried to smile. “I’m Miguel.”

The monster guy checked his nails that he didn’t have, and kept one hand on his shoulder, still. “I’m Xibalba. I rule the Land of the Dead.”

Miguel… didn’t buy it. “Really?”

“Yes, _really_.” Xibalba sneered. “Are you getting sassy with me?”

“DON’T-” Héctor’s head started talking as soon as it was out of the water- which was suspiciously last. “Listen to him! He is a liar and a cheat! And you _stop touching him, Xibalba_!”

Xibalba tightened his grip and shook Miguel and Dante side to side, creaking the wooden planks. “But I’m not doing anything, Héctor!” he teased.

Screwing his head on tight, Héctor threw himself between Xibalba and Miguel and pulled them apart. Miguel got pushed behind him, and Héctor shoved a threatening finger in Xibalba’s face. It didn’t work, Miguel figured, because Xibalba was three times Héctor’s size and he might have even been growing, and Xibalba was chuckling at him, but Miguel still felt pretty safe where he was.

“I’ve told you once, and I will tell you a thousand times: no deals! No arrangements! I don’t want anything you’re peddling! Go away!”

“Oh Héctor...” Xibalba grinned a pointy-toothed grin. “Do you really think you have a thousand more times to say it?”

Héctor swallowed, and his grip for Miguel was shaking and too tight where he grabbed him. He lead Miguel along the other way. “Come on, chamaco,” he said, and Miguel tried to ignore the shiver in his voice. “We’re just gonna get the guitar and get back into El Marrow, okay? He can’t follow us into the city lights.”

Xibalba, behind them, only laughed. “The guitar, huh?” He sunk into the water, never breaking eye contact with Héctor. “The one guitar...”

He melted back into the ocean, and the darkness that made Xibalba suddenly dashed under their feet and whipped around the gangplanks, centering in a bungalow not too far from where they were. Miguel’s first thought was ‘okay, so we just don’t go into that house’.

Héctor immediately started sprinting towards that house. “No no no nonono- Chicharrón!”

He made it into the house before Miguel could. The shack was dirty, mostly empty, and didn’t even have a fourth wall; the back opened up into the blue of the ocean behind them. All that was really inside was a box being used as a table, and a hammock. Héctor stood right in the middle, frozen in place.

The hammock was stuffed to overflowing with junk. Toys, trash, musical instruments… they were all so old, and so dirty, and Miguel wondered if they were ofrenda gifts from years ago. They engulfed the little skeleton man inside, only held up by his gaucho hat and his guitar cradled in his arms. Miguel’s heart stung with how much he looked like Papá Julio.

Xibalba hovered over him. His wings flared out just as Miguel looked- like he was posing- blocking out all light except the unnatural green glow from his body. His black tentacle-thingies creeped over the little man’s bones like climbing vines, and all the while, Xibalba grinned at Héctor.

“Just a little while longer, Héctor,” teased Xibalba. “Just a short wait, and then I’ll be done with him...”

“What’s he talking about?” said Miguel. “Héctor?”

It was weird, because Héctor didn’t have skin, so he couldn’t sweat. He couldn’t get goosebumps. He didn’t have lungs, so he couldn’t breathe heavy. All the little clues that Miguel could have looked for on a living person just weren’t there.

And he could still tell that Héctor was terrified by whatever Xibalba was doing. He barely managed a deep breath and straightening up his spine to approach the two, and Miguel hung back to watch.

“Chicharrón...” Héctor very pointed ignored Xibalba hanging over them. “Oh no… not tonight, of all the nights...”

Chicharrón woke just enough to look Héctor in the eyes. His voice was so tired, and worn… “… I don’t wanna see your stupid face.”

“C’mon, Chich...”

“Come to borrow something else, have you?

Héctor wilted. “Eh… it’s… the guitar.”

Chicharrón sighed like the world was ending. “It’s the last thing I have… I can’t even play it, Héctor. I can feel myself fading...”

“Nononono, Chich, th-that’s just him!” Héctor pointed at Xibalba. “He’s just taking you to bad places in your head-”

Xibalba pouted at him so hard that it made Chicharrón laugh. Miguel sat down next to Dante, on the floor, just… watching.

“Héctor...” Chicharrón slowly, with painful twitches of his fingers and elbows, passed Héctor his guitar. “You want it? Play me my favorite song. Make me happy, in my final moments. Earn it… for once.”

Héctor flinched at that, and Miguel inched closer. What did he mean, “earn it”? Héctor held the guitar and… started tuning it, by ear, while Xibalba and Chicharrón watched. Did… did Héctor play?

Héctor played… and sang. “ _Well everyone knows Juanita, her eyes each a different color. Her feet stick out and her chin goes in, and her_ … knuckles they drag _on the floor_.”

Miguel thought he heard him hesitate, and Chicharrón glared at him from the hammock. “Those aren’t the words.”

“There are children present,” Héctor whispered. “ _Her hair is like a briar; she stands in a bow-legged stance… and if I weren’t so ugly, she’d possibly give me a chance_.”

Chicharrón just managed to laugh, a weak but heartfelt laugh that made his bones rattle. The black lines in his bones crept up with every little breath, criss-crossing in a web around him. Héctor sunk into himself, holding the guitar like a treasure.

Chicharrón gurgled out a few words. “Brings back good memories… gracias...”

He… collapsed like a card castle. All of Chicharrón just crumbled in front of him, crushed in Xibalba’s black grip but without a crunch, or any sound at all. He just… breathed out, and he was gone.

It didn’t click at first. Miguel jumped off his seat and checked the hammock for him, and he just wasn’t there anymore. “What’d you do with him!?” he shouted up at Xibalba.

“I did my duty,” Xibalba growled into his ear, making Miguel jump back in shock. “You heard Héctor: the dead aren’t meant to linger forever. Chicharrón overstayed until he was poor, broken, hungry, and suffering… and I _ended_ that suffering.”

Miguel’s blood ran cold. “You mean you...”

Héctor spoke. “He was forgotten, Miguel. When nobody in the Land of the Living remembers you, then Xibalba earns claim on your soul.”

Xibalba picked up where Héctor left off. “And I don’t leave my denizens in pain. That’s what I keep telling you, year after year, Héctor...” Xibalba grinned. “ _I only want to help you_.”

“Yeah, well you can stuff your help down whatever hole you have.” Héctor shouldered the guitar, took Miguel in his other hand, and marched them out. “C’mon, chamaco.”

Miguel stayed close to Héctor, not daring to look back behind him where he knew Xibalba was. The water around them stayed clear and blue, so he guessed they weren’t being followed. He was still scared to speak… “I-is that gonna happen to you, Héctor?”

Héctor gave him a little smile, a tired one, one that either meant he was worn out or lying. “No. Because I have you, and you have me, and we’re gonna help each other, right?”

“Right...”

“C’mon...” Héctor patted his back. “Xibalba’s always killing the mood around here… let’s grab a tram and get back to the music contest, huh? Lemme make you smile. What’ll it take to cheer you up?”

Miguel thought, and for some reason, his mind went back to Abuelita Elena. “Can you… tell me stories about Chicharrón?”

Héctor didn’t answer right away, but when he did, his smile was more sincere. “Sure, kid… that sounds perfect.”


	6. All Below his Pay Grade (Domino Hurley)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He thought by now he'd have staff for this kind of thing.

This was why Domino Hurley, Top Salesman of the Reaper Department, refused to work with kids. The dead ones were hard enough, because they grew little wings and had to be caught and stuffed under something heavy so they couldn’t get away. Live ones? Most of the time they didn’t even have a concept of mortality. They couldn’t even see him, much less fear him.

A live kid who hadn’t grown little wings, could see him, and was afraid of him? He thought it would be the easiest sale in his career. Instead, the kid had flown the coop in a more figurative sense, and left him dealing with his screaming witch-of-a-woman great-aunt or whatever.

After this, he was having a talk with his boss, because he was sick of dealing with this kind of crap.

Still, he wasn’t Top Salesman for nothing. Time to lay on the charm.

Braced for what was sure to be the tantrum of the century, Domino strolled into the D.O.D. lobby looking as casual as he could. He had to do his best to look like he hadn’t stayed in his office finishing a cigarette. Imelda had sent her family off in every direction to look for the kid for the last hour. They had all congregated there, swapping notes.

Imelda set on him within seconds.

“I _demand_ that your idiot secretary be _fired_!” She was so fired up, she was pacing. “How could she let Miguel out of her sight?! He is one boy, the _only living boy_ in the Land of the Dead, and she loses him?!”

Domino adjusted his tie, and the thread of conversation. “And he’s nowhere in the building, I take it?”

The little fat man spoke up. “No sign of him, and we looked everywhere.”

“Except the basement!” said the matching little fat woman. “There was a demon in the elevator! And he wouldn’t let us in!”

A demon in the elevator… that could only be one of them, really. The Department of Death had only ever summoned one Spirit of the Land to work the elevators. “Ah, yes, Brennis. Don’t worry; I’ll have a talk with him.”

Imelda was on him again, nearly shoving her finger up his eye socket in an accusatory point. “And that is _another_ thing! Who does that demon _think he is_ , trying to tell us where we can and can’t go?! Miguel could be down there, _surrounded_ by demons, with no family to keep him safe, and this _Breenies_ thinks-”

Okay, “Breenies” almost got a chuckle out of him. Domino was originally willing to just let her scream until she ran out of air, but that was starting to look impossible. She griped more than that Bruno clod Calavera had sold a travel package to early today-

Crap, and he still had to deal with Calavera.

“Well, if my guess is any kind of accurate-” And it should be, considering Brennis was one of his employees more or less, “Then Brennis wouldn’t have let your grandson into the garage either.”

Imelda couldn’t resist correcting him, breaking her streak to do it. “ _Great-great-_ grandson!”

“Which means, Mrs. Rivera, that he’s probably out on the street.”

There they all went, clucking and gasping and muttering like a bunch of stupid pigeons. Domino held the cards now, and he snatched up the break in the flow to lead this particular dance.

“None of you would happen to have an alebrije handy, would you?” Asking was a formality; alebrijes were traditionally pulled over from the living world to aide the dead on their journey. Nowadays, almost nobody even made the hike to the Ninth Underworld. Alebrijes were basically glorified pets who didn’t provide anything useful; there was no way this family of mountain-town hicks would say yes.

Of course, Imelda immediately got a look on her face and stormed out of the front door. “Pepita!”

This was going to be more trouble than he first thought. He followed about two steps behind the rest of the family to the street, to see this “Pepita” himself.

The first thing he thought when he saw Pepita was “Imelda must be an idiot”. Not just any animal could cross over and be an alebrije, after all. It took being specific species, or ones from a particular bloodline… or it took a direct act by Xibalba or La Muerte. He could usually tell Xibalba’s picks easy: they were drab, had weird heads, and were almost never mammals. Vultures, snakes, crows, whippoorwills: Xibalba loved his spooky little psychopomps. La Muerte’s were always colorful mammals, and she had this weird system for which people got what animals. Some kind of ironic message intended for the wayward soul… The idiot demon in the garage yammered on about it once while Domino was getting his tires rotated.

All he knew was that normal souls didn’t get flying horned panthers the size of buses as alebrijes, and that somehow, Imelda just took it for granted that she had one.

“Rosita!” Imelda shouted from the big beast’s flank. “Get over here!”

Rosita flinched away from Pepita like she thought the thing was going to eat her. Instead, Pepita sniffed at her clothes and then started tracking along the concrete.

“We’re going after him before he gets himself killed.” Imelda pointed to him again. “You keep an eye out for him in case he comes back! Send one of your alebrijes for me the second you see him!”

Domino waved off the Rivera family from the front steps of the Department of Death. He felt like Calavera, wishing the best of luck to low-life loser souls leaving on a fool’s errand. “You have my word, Mrs. Rivera! I’m doing everything in my power to find your boy!”

They disappeared into the crowd.

Domino snapped his fingers, calling his alebrije to his shoulder. Imelda could be out there for hours trying to sort out a smell on a crowded city street. He had a picture, printed from the computer in the office while he was having his smoke. He presented it to his alebrije.

“Find him first.”

It was all he had to say. The crow took off like a shot, and he was free to head back in and call the elevator to head down to the garage.

Well, wasn’t this just handy? There was all twelve feet high of Brennis the demon now. Brennis was one of the uglier demons, and that was saying a lot. Bright red, with the body of a gorilla and none of the hair, his one big cyclopian eye always looked irritated both in the emotional way and the pinkeye way. His big jutting tusks gave him one hell of a underbite, but Domino was sure it was the job that gave him the round-the-clock atttitude.

Domino strode into the elevator, forcing Brennis into the corner. “You know you’re not supposed to be where people can see you, Brennis.”

“It’s that dumb mechanic’s fault!” Brennis argued in a voice like he ate cigarettes rather than smoked them. “Couldn’t get him off the car he modified. Who puts the tow truck keys in the break room? They should stay in the tow truck, where I need them!”

“I don’t remember telling you I _cared_ ,” said Domino. “Stay out of the customer’s sight from now on, or it’ll be you getting a tow truck ride to the Petrified Forest.”

Domino stepped out of the elevator into the garage. Brennis didn’t follow him, probably scared for his job… It made for a calming atmosphere. Most of the driver demons had been sent home- by him- hours ago. The ceiling for no particular reason was high enough to fit a house, all in sterile, unpainted concrete slabs. The tiny little mechanic’s office lay on the opposite side. His footsteps echoed in the cold, empty concrete hall.

Nobody here but him and Calavera.

He pulled his pistol out of his coat and popped a bullet into the chamber.

He undid the deadbolt keeping the ex-mechanic’s office locked and stepped into the tiny closet. “Well, Manny, time to give you your severance package.”

The room, hardly even big enough to stretch his arms out, was completely empty.

Manny Calavera was gone.

And he had his alebrije out looking for some stupid kid.


	7. The Show Must Begin (Maria)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A whole afterlife ahead of her, and she's the Event Organizer of the Dead. At least she's got maybe the best boss in the afterlife.

The music contest was ready to go live within minutes. She had all the stage notes and band information on her paper in her clipboard. The stage was clean, the admissions were taken and counted. It was Dia de los Muertos, she was trying to organize a gaggle of musicians, she had to get the winner to Ernesto de la Cruz’s Sunlight Spectacular within a couple hours, and now someone _else_ was trying to sign up?!

Her name tag only had enough room for “Maria Posada-Sanchez, Event Organizer”.

_It did not say “Doormat”!_

She made quick work through the staging area behind the backdrop, correcting issues as she made her way toward the latest problem. “Standby _Del Rubias_ , on in four. Spare guitar strings are available with Emilio, in the green shirt. No smoking next to the fireworks. Charlie, that’s your third strike. Security, escort. Now-”

She threw back the curtain that kept the staging area away from the back alley. _“Who is trying to sign up three minutes before the contest?!”_

Her eyes fell on a street bum in tatters and a straw hat. He had a hairless dog. He apologized with a smile. “It’s not me, actually. It’s the kid.”

And behind him was a little boy! Oh, he was so cute and round in the face with his little leather shoes and his smile! All dressed in red, too, Maria’s favorite color.

“Look at you!” Maria gushed. “Little angelito! Are you here to play?”

He nodded, all embarrassed, and pulled a guitar out from behind his back. “Sí, Señorita.”

“ _Señorita!_ ” Maria laughed. “Oh, that’s great! Okay, what’s your name?”

“Miguel!”

Maria jotted him down in the brand new final slot she just added to the end of her paper. “And the name of your act?”

Miguel got caught in a long “Uh...” before offering, “De la Cruzzzzito?”

The ratty dressed man explained. “He’s related to De la Cruz.”

“Oh that’s wonderful!” encouraged Maria. “His bloodline could use some talented musicians!”

It looked like her quip went right over little Miguel’s head, but the man with him nearly doubled over suppressing a laugh. It made Maria grin, and she pulled back the curtain for them. “Come on, there’s cocoa and cookies at the table in the holding area, all you can eat.”

“All right!” Miguel ran in guitar first, followed fast by the dog (“There’s doggie treats in a jar under the table!”) and finally the giggling man. He shook her hand.

“Muchas gracias, Señora Posada,” he said, reading the name tag. “He really needed this tonight.”

She shook his hand back so hard it popped off his ulna. She gave it back in apology. “No hay problema! He reminds me of my husband. So, how are you related to him?”

The man shrugged and made an odd, noncommittal noise. “If he’s De la Cruz’s kid, then he might as well be my nephew. De la Cruz and me were friends before I died.”

“And after?”

Another shrug, this one helpless and hurting. “He got famous, and...”

Those four little words implied a long, hard story. Maria’s heart twisted, in a little way. “Oh that’s awful… Come in, Señor…?”

He shook her hand. “Héctor Rivera!”

“Come get you some cocoa, Héctor. You deserve it.”

Héctor swaggered inside with a happy whoop. “Boy, do I ever!”

What a cute little group: a boy, his dog, and his more-or-less uncle, entering a music contest to… go to the Sunrise Spectacular? But if Miguel really was a De la Cruz, why wasn’t he invited? It seemed like a cruel injustice.

She wouldn’t let that lie right in front of her like that. Not when she could fix it.

She ducked back, out of sight of the others in that special place only she and hers could reach. She couldn’t be seen here, and time would roll slower until she left it. She spoke aloud. “I’m calling in the Eternal Favor you owe me.”

With those words, La Muerte appeared before her.

La Muerte, the Goddess of Death and Afterlife, was always radiant in red and gold and little sugar skulls adorning her massive hat. Even now she was statuesque and grand, all while she flickered and faltered before Maria. It worried her; La Muerte had been under a mysterious, untraceable pain for decades, and it was getting worse year by year. It always seemed the strongest on Dia de los Muertos. Still, for how La Muerte had tampered with her life as a little girl, the goddess owed her and hers the Eternal Favor.

Maria, also, wasn’t one to abuse her privilege. She tried to use it to lighten La Muerte’s pain, whenever she could. “La Muerte, buenos noches.”

“Maria, mi mano derecha...” La Muerte still smiled and glowed despite the pain in her eyes. “What’s caught your attention?”

With La Muerte here, she could reach a little farther than usual. Maria pulled back the Veil of Reality so she and La Muerte could silently spy on Miguel and Héctor, who were drinking cocoa at the snack table. “This little boy, a tiny guitarrista just like our Manolo.”

“Oh, how cute!” La Muerte sighed. “You found me a baby musician on Dia de Muertos!”

Maria ventured, “Worth a blessing?”

La Muerte nodded and tossed her long hair. “I can almost feel the migraine fading already. Now...”

From her hair, she pulled a handful of marigolds. “For our little musician: may his love of music take root and bloom tonight.”

La Muerte breathed life into the marigolds and sent the petals flying to the little Miguel.

The petals bounced right off him, unseen, and popped back into her hand.

La Muerte burst into flame. _“Oh what the hell?!”_

She did this sometimes, it was normal. Maria just scratched her head. “Wha- why didn’t that work? That always works.”

With a snap of her fingers, La Muerte growled and snuffed herself out. “This has to be Xibalba! He knows better than to mess with me when I have a migraine- _Xibalba!_ ”

Xibalba was there with an instant puff of smoke, and he was smiling like a jackass. “Lady troubles, mi amor?”

La Muerte grabbed him by the beard and pointed him right at Miguel. “What did you do to that angelito so I can’t bless him?!”

Xibalba stroked his chin in thought. “… oh that’s Living Boy. Miguel, with Héctor, yes.”

Maria nearly snapped her clipboard. “He’s alive?!”

“What do you mean ‘living boy’?!” La Muerte yanked his beard harder. “What is he doing here?”

Xibalba took his beard back with a huff. “How should I know? He got collected by one of _your_ Reapers. Why not read about it in _the reports_?”

“Don’t you make this about my business again!” La Muerte growled. “You said you wanted more souls moving on, and I obliged you!”

“Oh yes, and they’re doing an _excellent_ job of it,” said Xibalba, his voice dripping with oozy black sarcasm. “I can see them now, making their way… after the parade, and the contests, and the fireworks, oh and then they have to go to _work_ tomorrow-”

Maria shouted, “Both of you! Stop!”

If not for the Eternal Favor, they wouldn’t have payed her any mind. Instead Xibalba and La Muerte both shut their mouths fast and turned to her, looming over her in height but not in spirit. Even among the people who held the Favor, Maria was the only one who could stop them in the middle of an argument. It wasn’t just about nipping their spat in the bud, though; it was about correcting a problem.

Thusly, she brought their attention back to Miguel. “So, what’s going on with this boy, right now?”

La Muerte folded her arms and shrugged one tired shoulder. “I can’t bless him.”

“And why not?”

“It was part of the Original Wager,” La Muerte reminded her: the one that nearly screwed up her life so severely that she was owed the Eternal Favor in the first place. “No more meddling in the affairs of men.”

Xibalba cut in. “Living men, specifically.”

Maria gestured to… everything, all of it being the Land of the Dead. “Here?!”

Now Xibalba shrugged. “Guess he’s living enough.”

La Muerte gave his wing an angry tug as a hint. “Or he’s cursed.”

Xibalba perked up with a little “oh!” before smacking his forehead. “It totally slipped my mind! I know I left a few of those sitting around. Let’s give him a look, shall we?”

Here in this space where the gods moved, Maria set out with La Muerte and Xibalba. They hovered over Miguel unseen, watching him tune his guitar while Xibalba started to pull at the threads of his life.

“What were you thinking?” Maria scolded. “Cursing a living boy in this day and age?”

“Did you miss the phrasing, ‘no _more_ meddling’?” Xibalba pulled deep from the tangle of Miguel’s thoughts and memories, catching up a thread from his heart. “This one- found it- is grandfathered in.”

Out came the curse, a tangled and knotted thing that ended at Miguel. Xibalba held the knot in his palm, lifting it up for the three of them to see. The many little cords that made it up went off in different directions, bobbing and weaving at their junctions.

To Maria’s shock, the curse wasn’t Xibalba’s inky green, but La Muerte’s fiery gold.

“Ha!” Xibalba pointed at the little knot. “Look! It wasn’t me this time!”

Even La Muerte looked abashed at the discovery. Her jaw dropped. Her hands reached out without touching it. “I… I haven’t laid a curse in nearly a century… I can’t even remember...”

Maria, to the point, asked, “Well, what was the last thing that really pissed you off?”

She immediately snapped at Xibalba. “Him!”

Xibalba smiled in wicked glee. “I love you too, querida.”

Maria needed a coffee. “Focus!”

La Muerte’s hands wrung at the air. “I’m trying here! I can hold grudges with other gods because they last as long as me; I try not to do that with the living! I don’t remember!”

La Muerte reached out to take the curse from Xibalba’s hand.

The tiniest tug at it, like a butterfly playing a sad guitar, sent her reeling. Her colors and light dipped and flickered, and she cried out as racking pain sent her to her knees. Maria stepped forward to catch her, but Xibalba flew beneath her to bundle her up in his arms and stroke her hair.

Maria reeled at the sight. “This is a powerful curse...”

She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but La Muerte was nodding in Xibalba’s arms. Her voice was weak when she spoke. “Xibalba, please…”

“Of course, my love, anything...”

La Muerte whispered to him, and Xibalba took three of the thickest threads of the curse in his fingers. One, he looped around Maria’s hand. It snapped to her wrist and tied tight, then disappeared into the immaterial.

“This little boy’s choices are his own,” La Muerte whispered. “I can’t intervene with him. But in return for the Favor, I’m assigning you this as my Right Hand. Go out and find the source of this curse. I’m going to divide this task among all of you; find it, and break it.”

La Muerte had given her work, and Maria was not a woman to leave work done poorly. She bowed before them both. “Yes, My Lady.”

La Muerte and Xibalba stood together, contrasting red and green, light and dark, holding the last two threads of the curse. Xibalba kissed his wife’s cheek. “You need to rest, amor. Let me bring you home.”

With a twist of his wings, they were both gone, and Maria was back in sync with reality. Talking with gods was always a sort of miniature jet lag for a few seconds. At least she was among a happy crowd. She could pet a few alebrijes, have a coffee, eat a cookie, and center herself before going out and talking on stage.

Wait, that was Chowchilla Charlie trying to sneak into the money box… for the fourth time tonight.

Maria sighed. A woman’s work was never done.


	8. The Best Dia de los Muertos Ever (Miguel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miguel's not old enough to be suspicious of nights that go too well.

Miguel knew he could play, but he never knew he could sing! Or dance! _Or all of them at the same time!_ Twelve years old and he was halfway as talented as Ernesto de la Cruz!

He had never been around this many musicians before in his life, and all of them had been so cool! There were so many he liked, and even the ones he didn’t he liked watching them play, and he got to talk to them backstage and look at their instruments. They’d all done amazing acts, maybe, but he and Héctor killed it with the audience, and the only thing to do now was wait for the votes to get totaled up.

And maybe party a little, because backstage? Backstage was a _party_! Even now, the Chachalacos were shaking Héctor’s hands and patting him on the head.

“You were amazing out there, Poco Loco!” said the tuba player.

The drummer just wouldn’t let go of Héctor’s hands. “You guys are a tight act! And this was your first time?”

“Well, yes- no, but yes- _I’m_ retired.” Héctor pointed them to Miguel. “ _He_ was the first timer.”

Miguel was ready to talk more, but the kid with the alligator marimba alebrije was there with candy and soda. “Hey Poco Loco, you wanna pop firecrackers with us?”

“ _Do I?!_ ” Miguel turned to Héctor. “Can I? Por favor!”

“You gotta ask?” Héctor gave him a little thump on the back. “Go have fun, okay, we only have a few hours before you’re back in the Land of the Living!”

“GRACIAS!”

“Just don’t leave the alley so I can find you later okay?”

“Okay!”

He was surrounded by musicians- even kid musicians like him- and food and fireworks and music, and this might have been the best Dia de los Muertos ever! It was like all the ones he should have been having his whole life, instead of sitting around at home listening to the same stupid story about Mamá Imelda and his great-great-grandfather. Now him and all the skeleton kids were outside shooting Roman candles at each other, and none of the adults cared! And he could eat all the cookies he wanted, and Maria got him some calaveras before the show, and he could actually play with Dante where people could see him! Nobody cared! Or, maybe, like, they were just happy for him? And wanted him to have fun and play and be a little kid for a while.

“Hey!” said the marimba kid. “I like your weird monkey-iguana alebrije!”

Miguel laughed and threw a paper plate for Dante to catch. Getting to talk with other kids that weren’t his cousins was great too! Most of the kids at school thought he was weird because his Abuelita wouldn’t let him watch TV or listen to the radio. The dead kids had been dead so long, most of them hadn’t even owned a TV! It was perfect! “He’s not any of those things! He’s just a dog with no hair and no teeth!”

“Nuh-uh! If he’s over here with us, then he’s an alebrije.”

Dante came back with a sock instead of the plate. Miguel taking it back turned into a game of tug-of-war, one he was only winning because Dante was missing teeth and got distracted by the shadow of a passing bird. “He’s not shiny like yours is!”

Marimba kid gave his alebrije a big hug, a big dark spot on his alligator-thingy’s giant pink skin. “Maybe yours is out of batteries!”

“Yeah, maybe!” Miguel laughed. He let go of the sock so he could hold Dante by the face. “Whatchu think, Dante? Are you out of batteries? Where do we put your batteries in, huh-”

Dante licked the inside of his mouth.

“AGH! DOG DROOL!” Miguel jumped for the nearest bottle of soda, rinsing and spitting with the first mouthful before draining the bottle dry. The other kids were still laughing, and Dante was now really interested in having some soda too.

Eh, alebrije or not, Dante was still just a dog. Miguel patted his butt and threw the bottle away. He needed more cookies. They went back into the staging area together. “Señorita Maria! Are there any cookies left?”

Everybody inside was quiet, and shushed him when he came in. Héctor waved him over to his side, where they listened in on Maria’s announcement from the main stage.

“- the results are announced, I have an emergency message from out sponsors, the Department of Death. Please be on the lookout for a living boy answering to the name ‘Miguel’. If he’s found, please return to his Reaper, Mr. Domino Hurley-”

Miguel didn’t hear the rest, because he was running out the back and into the alley as fast as he could.

There they were! Even if they weren’t _here_ , there they were! His stupid family, trying to ruin his life and keep him from being happy! They even found him here, and Maria would bring him back to Imelda-

Dante caught up to him and bit his arm!

Well, not his arm, his sleeve, but the teeth he had left had been so close to his skin that it made him scream anyway. Miguel tried pulling Dante’s mouth open by the parts without teeth, but by the time he had, Héctor caught up with them both.

“Miguel! Don’t scare me like that, I nearly fainted!” He grabbed Miguel by the shoulders. “Come on, everybody fanned out looking for you-”

“I can’t go back!” Miguel wrenched out of Héctor’s grip. His heart was beating so hard he almost couldn’t hear himself. He couldn’t help screaming. “I don’t wanna go on the Number Nine! I don’t wanna be dead! And that’s what they’re gonna do if I go back to the D.o.D.!”

“Easy, kid!” Héctor shouted over him. “Look, deep breaths, don’t freak out! They’re your family! Nobody wants you dead!”

Héctor shattered from behind, broken into pieces by a giant crow with a human skull for a head.

It had its teeth around his nose and eyes before he could scream. He couldn’t swat it away, because its wings hit back like baseball bats against his arms. It boxed the sound of out his ears, and whenever his hearing came back, it was to the crow shrieking and Héctor screaming at it to let him go, all while its talons dug into his shoulders. Dante had his hoodie by the back, pulling him away from the bird but choking him right against his throat. There was a splintering crunch, and the bird let go of his face; Héctor reeled and punched it right against the skull hard enough to crack his arm lengthwise.

The bird spread its wings wide and flapped, and Miguel felt his feet starting to leave the ground. “ _Ayúdame_!”

Something hit him hard from the side, knocking him to the concrete in a pile of feathers and bones. When he looked up, his vision was filled with glowing, sparkling purple and green.

Then it was full of teeth bigger than his entire head.

Miguel couldn’t scream anymore. Only air came out when he tried. Dante caught the hood of his hoodie and pulled hard, yanking him out to the sidewalk in hard jerks and tugs. Where he had been standing was a wall of purple: a giant winged pig alebrije, nearly as big as his house, twisted and turned chasing the human-headed crow. On top of his back was a man- a bullfighter?!- dressed in a black traje de luces and steering the giant pig with quick commands of “Venga, venga!” Héctor had disappeared in the action, until Miguel looked down and found him trapped under the boar’s stomping feet. Miguel’s throat, already clenched and yanked on and nearly blown out, squeezed together just enough to squeal, “ _Héctor_!”

Héctor scrambled, always cut off from escaping by the pig’s feet slamming down in front of him, sometimes in the middle of him, scattering him before he could pull together enough to escape. “Stay there, Miguel! No- just run! Don’t stay, run!”

The sky screamed, and a green panther just as big as the pig dropped down between them.

Miguel, freaked out beyond thinking, ran for Héctor. He ducked right under the giant panther’s legs and made a mad grab for Héctor’s arm. He caught it just before the panther turned and joined the fight, knocking the pig back several feet. It uncovered Héctor enough for him to pull himself together, and with his arms and legs back, he scooped up Miguel as best he could and pulled him out of the way.

“What are you doing?!” yelled the bullfighter. “Stop!”

“Who-”

Héctor cut him off sharp. “I don’t know him, go! GO!”

Miguel took off. Dante was right behind him for half a second, then outran him, tail tucked between his legs and yelping out loud. Miguel followed the sound of his barks around corners and down stairs, only knowing Héctor was following him because of the hard rattle of his bones against the street. He only stopped when he turned a corner too hard and nearly ran over Dante. The alley was a dead end, but it was quiet, and Héctor fell into his back in a big out of breath heap. There was nowhere to go.

A pair of hands slammed over his mouth. “Everybody stay quiet, just a second.”

He- he knew that voice! Miss Eva?! From the D.o.D.? Miguel turned his head up to look, and it was her holding his mouth, just dressed all in dark green army clothes. Of course, from there he could also see Héctor gearing up to freak out. He grabbed tight at Eva’s hands wrists, but didn’t pull or tug at them. Miguel could see the arm with the long break in it struggling to keep a grip.

“ _What are you doing?!_ ”

Miss Eva shushed him with a finger. She spoke low, and quietly. “Careful. They’re listening for you.”

“Who is?!”

“The D.o.D.”

“What- the D.o.D. again?”

Miss Eva cut him off. “ _They’re the ones that sent the crow._ ”

That shocked Héctor into silence. Miss Eva let him go. Héctor grabbed up Miguel and sat down hard behind a trash can, with Miss Eva sitting next to them. Dante crawled across all of their laps and laid there.

They hid in that alley together, all four of them, for three whole minutes. Miguel played “Remember Me” in his head to keep track and calm himself down. Three entire minutes of hiding, with a dog on his lap, with Héctor giving Miss Eva rotten looks and holding his broken arm. Three minutes… but the crow didn’t follow them, or the panther, or the giant pig. Miguel could kind of breath, but mostly not. His voice was tired, and his throat was kind of sore from getting pulled on over and over, and his skin was starting to itch under the shoe polish.

“I think we’re clear.” Eva stood up and extended a hand to Héctor, who didn’t take it. “I’m Eva, by the way.”

Miguel explained when Héctor still didn’t shake back. “Miss Eva’s the one who told me to run from Mr. Hurley.”

Miss Eva nodded. “That was his personal alebrije back there. I can recognize its noises from a mile away.”

Héctor finally stood back up, dropping Dante on the concrete. “Sorry- so she’s in on all this ridiculous mess?”

“Not so much in on it as in the know,” she said. “Let’s get you both off the street. My boss wants to have a few words with you, get you up to speed, and get you out of El Marrow by tonight.”

Miguel gasped. “You mean I can go back home?”

Eva shook her head. “Sweetie, I honestly hope so, but I doubt it. Now- Eva, and three guests.”

The ground, just, cracked open under Dante. He yelped a bit and waffled on the sliding panels before running behind Miguel, and the split concrete opened up into… an elevator platform.

“What is this?” Héctor groaned. “ _What is this?!_ Hijole, where does this even go?!”

“To my real office,” said Eva. “And my real boss. Welcome to the L.S.A.”


	9. Dawn Creeps In (Ensemble)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like panning for gold, all the important pieces start to settle on the bottom the more things are shaken up.

Héctor had a plan- he had this speech all laid out for whenever Eva’s “boss” came back. Getting Miguel, the poor kid, wrapped up in some crazy conspiracy against the Department of Death and making him think his family wanted him dead, that nonsense with the crow, the secret elevators that lead to a rotten basement next to the storm drains: it was loco! It was loco all the way down, and Héctor was ready to give somebody a piece of his mind because he was tired, and he had family to visit, and he wasn’t about to trust the word of just anybody who came off the street.

When the man himself came out of a grate in the floor, he had to rethink things, because he… He radiated goodness and sincerity, and nobility. It shocked Héctor and Miguel into silence when he appeared. It reminded Héctor of being a little kid and seeing the revolucionarios parading through the streets on horseback, the kind of people his mama told him never to mess with or he’d be pulled into the war and killed, but who just… He couldn’t look away from him. He wore simple fatigues and a beret like a suit of armor, and stood so proud, so shiny and well-remembered. When the soldier offered his hand and his name, Héctor took both without a second thought.

“My name is Salvador Limones. I wish I could have met you both under better circumstances.” He took a knee and shook Miguel’s hand as well, and then one of Dante’s paws, which made Miguel smile. “You are among the Lost Souls Alliance. We work to negate the corruption within the Department of Death, and prevent the suffering they cause to undeserving souls. I’m afraid I have much to explain. I will try to keep things brief.

“The Department of Death is a young establishment, barely a hundred years old. I was one of their very first Reapers, appointed by La Muerte herself to see over the collection of souls from the Land of the Living. Even within my brief time there, I found evidence of corruption. It took root quickly, and now I believe it has subsumed the Department of Death completely.”

In the Department of Death, looming above their heads in the highest and darkest office, Domino was coming out of a phone call. “They called back from the Sunrise Spectacular Contest. The kid’s grandmother’s alebrije intercepted ours, and the kid got lost in the shuffle.”

His boss growled low and drummed his fingers against his desk. “And the other woman? The one Calavera stole out from under your nose, _Domino_?”

It was already a tense meeting. Domino’s boss was not a patient man, nor was Don Copal, the head of the Department of Death. But Don was just a tubby loud guy with a combover in death and no sense of when to calm down, and his attempts to laugh through his nerves was getting on Domino’s nerves.

“H-hey now! Don’t be too mad at Domino,” he pleaded. “Calavera’s always been a wild card; never could do anything the right way! He’ll turn up!”

“Just like the boy is ‘turning up’? And the missing woman?” His boss tented his hands. “Oh, believe me, Copal: I am indeed ‘too mad’. I am very mad indeed, and one of us is handling our emotions better than the-”

Someone knocked. It made Don nearly jump out of his seat. Domino was expecting it, kind of. That specific knock meant good news. “Ah, that’s Joaquin. C’mon in.”

Joaquin was new; Domino had hired him a couple years ago with his side business money to take care of errands he didn’t trust to a demon. The guy was a brute, didn’t talk much, but was at least smart enough to handle orders. Joaquin came in feet first, kicking the door open. His hands, and one of his shoulders, were full with a wiggling burlap sack. He rolled it into an empty chair and undid a rope holding it shut. Pulling it down unveiled his delivery: Miss Mercedes Colomar, bound and gagged and de-jawed for good measure.

His boss dropped back into his chair with a heavy breath. “Finally!”

Domino was so pleased, he lit himself a cigarette. “Great work, Joaquin! Good hustle! Where was she, anyway?”

“The Petrified Forest, sir. At the demon beaver dam.”

His boss raked his hands over his eye sockets. “If she got that far on foot, she would have made it to Rubacava by tomorrow! This cannot continue… the D.o.D. needs a more aggressive manager. Someone capable of expanding us outside of El Marrow.”

With that, his boss whipped out a pistol and shot Don. Three slugs landed right in his rib cage, choking out his cries as his body crumpled and erupted in green leaves and orange flowers. Domino heard a hiss of air, and thought the pneumatic tubes had gone down again, but it was actually just Colomar trying to scream without a jaw.

“Hmm. Marigolds.” His boss spun in his chair. “For some reason, I was expecting tulips. Oh well- I’ll take him home with me anyway. Have your man collect him in a bag and put him in the back seat, will you?”

“Yes sir, Hector.”

“In exchange, I’ll ask you to make the delivery to De la Cruz yourself. Consider it your final errand as a Reaper; you are now head of the Department of Death, Domino. I expect to see growth into the Rubacava sector by this time next year.”

Domino took a long drag. “Expect it by Christmas.”

Hector chuckled low. “See now, that’s the shame about Calavera. If he’d only shown the same drive as you, we could have been in this position years ago.”

Joaquin bound Colomar back up in her back and set her on his shoulder again. If he’d be out of the building a while, and Dia de los Muertos was basically over with, Domino saw no reason to keep the place open. “Undoubtedly. Make yourself comfy; we can share some drinks and watch the fireworks from the observation deck when I get back.”

He was tempted to rush the delivery. Hector LeMans was not a man to keep waiting.

And as he waited in that rich office of air conditioning and cushioned chairs, Miguel and Héctor Rivera sat in a humid brick room and drank warm water from shipped Department of Death mugs. Salvador stood before a slide projector and explained.

“Eva and I have been researching, but Miguel is the only case we’ve found of this transitory state between life and death. We cannot find a way to return him to life, but we will continue the search. Until then, we must keep Miguel out of the clutches of the D.o.D. at all costs. A great many dead have mysteriously disappeared under their intervention, and we can rest assured that their intentions towards him are not in his best interest.”

“And-” Héctor kept a hand tight on Miguel’s shoulder. “What about just getting him to the Land of the Living? Just to visit-”

Salvador shook his head. “Dawn is nearly upon us; the marigold petals that La Muerte scatters are starting to crumble, and our organization lacks the means to travel outside of the Land of the Dead.”

“So I...” Miguel whimpered. “Can’t go home? At all?”

“Not this year, Miguel,” Salvador said sadly. “I am sorry.”

“So, we did all of this...” Héctor waved his hands at the air. “The contest, the guitar- I got my _arm broken_ \- we did all of this for nothing?”

“Perhaps you were unable to return him to his living family tonight,” said Salvador. “But in watching over him, you have saved this child from an organization that wishes to do him harm. Is that for nothing, señor?”

Héctor bit back his words, hit in the face by his own words. This was a long walk from getting back to his little girl on the other side, yes, but he hadn’t meant it like that to Miguel. Poor kid was just sitting, staring as his hands while his skin faded out of sight down to his wrists. Héctor felt a wave of self-consciousness overtake him, and he took his hand away. Miguel leaned after it and felt hard into his side. He wrapped the kid back in his arms and just patted his shoulders.

He had to ask. “What do we do, Salvador? Kid’s got no family to go to other than De la Cruz, and I don’t even think he knows the kid exists.”

Salvador had an answer. “I would have the two of you make your way to Rubacava, following in the footsteps of our special agent. The Department of Death has its fingers throughout El Marrow, but outside of the city limits, you will be safe.”

“But…” Héctor swallowed hard. “Look, Salvador, I don’t have much time left. I have _one_ living relative left, and she’s nearly a hundred years old. I can feel her memory fading a little more every day, and I don’t know- _I may not make the night_. You’re telling me to bring the kid all the way to Rubacava with a stranger? What if Xibalba comes to collect and I leave him all alone out there?”

Salvador’s eyes fell. Whether in thought or in shame, Héctor couldn’t tell from the shadows.

Miguel took a deep breath. “I wanna talk to Xibalba.”

Out in the limelight, in the glamour and beauty of the heart of El Marrow, Ernesto de la Cruz closed his doors on another perfect night. The Sunlight Spectacular had gone beautifully, without so much as a light out of place. He had been the star of the afterlife, as he had been every year since his death. It was all wonderful.

If only his behind-the-scenes had gone so smoothly. His bodyguards ushered in a woman in red and white, one of those traditional types, and he met her with a laugh and a bow.

“Ah, from the agency, I take it?” He took her hand to kiss, and recoiled both at the wedding ring and how violently she took it back. He had specified unmarried, after all. “I apologize- my first choice had only been late. I’m afraid I don’t need your services anymore.”

“I’m actually not here with the… agency?” she said. “My name is Maria Posada. I’m your new event coordinator? Frieda Kahlo referred me.”

“Oh!” Ernesto went through the events of the last few days. Had he missed that? Maybe it happened at the rehearsal studio. “Eh…”

Maria added, “I work directly with the Department of Death.”

He mentally shrugged. That was good enough! The Department of Death was who had gotten him his new secretary after all! “Eh, all’s well that ends well! Come with me; you and Miss Colomar will be working in the guest houses together. Dia de Muertos is only a year away, after all! You can begin by sorting the gifts from my many ofrendas!”

If he had turned to look at Maria, he might have caught her rolling her eyes. It was probably better that he saw it reflected in his polished marble walls. It would be something to deal with later.

Back in that dark basement, Héctor whistled for Xibalba, and he came. He pulled himself up out of the slime that covered the walls and collected it all into him to make a smaller version of his body from before. Now the air was dry and the floor clicked where Miguel stepped on it. Salvador and Eva hung back, while Héctor and Dante hovered behind him.

“My wife,” Xibalba warned. “Is in _pain_ right now, Living Boy. It is the last hour of Dia de Muertos. I could be _home_.”

“You said you wanted to help Héctor earlier,” said Miguel. “What kind of help is it?”

Xibalba smiled. “Ah… curious, are you? What exactly is it that you want?”

“I wanna be alive again.”

Xibalba dropped the smile and huffed. “Well I can’t do that.”

“Why not?!”

“I made a promise, years ago,” he said. “I don’t meddle in the affairs of the living. If I brought you back to life, that would be meddling. Whatever you’re asking me to do for you, you would have to stay dead to do it.”

“Then… is there any way I can go back?” Miguel asked. “I… I wanna know if my family’s looking for me. I’m...”

Xibalba’s skull eyes looked at him again. “Say it. Say it out loud, for the people in the back.”

Miguel swallowed hard. “I’m scared they don’t want me back. I just wanna know…”

“Naturally.” Xibalba reached into his chest, right down into the slime, and pulled out a a little black ball. When Miguel looked closer, it changed shape into a green-lined calavera with red skull eyes. “Here. This is what I’ve been offering Héctor for decades: a taste of this sugar skull will send you to the Land of the Living. Just like the marigold petals. Any day of the year, all you do is take a bite, and you’re off.”

Miguel looked at it as close as he could. He could see all the little sugar grains it was made of… or at least, he thought it was sugar. Miguel’s nose scrunched at the idea. “It’s not gonna taste like how you smell, is it?”

Eva started to laugh at the face Xibalba pulled. “No.”

Héctor squeezed his shoulder, to remind him, and Miguel asked. “So what’s the catch?”

“The proper time limit.” Xibalba recovered his dignity with a shake of his wings. “This skull lasts _four years_ , if you don’t eat all of it before that point. Four years from now, if you haven’t finished it or found a way to be brought back to life, I _claim_ you. The same way I claimed Chicharrón.”

Miguel turned his head, looking to Salvador. “C-”

Xibalba jumped between them. “Aah-ah-ah. You are responsible for your own decisions; you don’t get to let them make it for you. I offer what I offer, and to you alone. Do you take it?”

Miguel tried to break eye contact- to look to Héctor or even Dante for help- but Xibalba moved to keep him in sight every time. Four years? Four years was so long. He could make a candy last that long, right? And it meant going back home, even a little bit, then…

Miguel took the calavera. “All right.”

Xibalba patted his head. “Go see your family, Miguel. Surely there’s at least one person on the other side who misses you.”

As Xibalba sunk into the bricks, taking all the gross stuff with him so the room was clean and dry, Miguel gasped. “There is! There TOTALLY is!”

Miguel gave the calavera one long, wet lick, and he was gone. Just like traveling by marigold, for the remembered, he wicked out of the air in a flash of light. Héctor sat down in the newly cleaned room, alone with the dog and the L.S.A., hurting and left behind again.

Even a kid who wasn’t dead could go back-

His soul rattled up from within his bones, and light began to flash within his skull. It racked him with pain, not in a… literal sense, but in the horrible sensation that his body was being left behind as the rest of him tried to escape into the air.

He came back to himself, and his arm was mended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the wrap-up chapter but then it hit 2600 words and I was like "aaaagh".


	10. Finally, out of El Marrow (Miguel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miguel, stuck between life and death, also gets stuck with the middle of the backseat.

Miguel had expected just kind of a “poof” and he would be back at his house.

Instead, he kind of knew what dandelions felt like. He kept a hard grip on the calavera in his hands, but he didn’t feel any weight on his fingers or air while he moved. He was flying, or floating, or maybe just staying in place while his feet dangled and the whole world moved around him. Little orange trails of petals fluttered past him going the other way, trailing bones behind them. He was lost in pure black for a few seconds while El Marrow disappeared, and not a few seconds after, the lights beneath him looked more like Santa Cecelia than the Land of the Dead. He recognized the graveyard, and the school, and the plaza.

He recognized his house, but he was scared to let go. He let the calavera touch him down, and when he landed, it disappeared from his hand.

A little tickle started in his head and ran down his throat to his belly, like sand. It tasted like sugar.

But he was home… kind of. He ran to the bathroom and couldn’t see himself in the mirror. He went out to the ofrenda and couldn’t move the picture frames, but he could pick up the food that was left there. He stuffed his pockets with things for Héctor, every little scrap he could fit, until his fingers landed on the photo he’d stolen from home. When he took it out, it was the same fuzzy orange that he was, and he couldn’t put it back. He was just as much of a ghost at home as he had been in the graveyard.

Nobody was home with him. He checked his parents’ bedroom and the workshop. Everyone was gone.

He gasped. Except Mamá Coco! She would be here!

He ran for her room and nearly got stuck at the door before realizing he could just walk through it. Mamá Coco’s room was always a little pink and smelled like old lady, but because she was almost never in it by herself, it was super tidy. Mamá Coco had been put to bed, and Miguel stood at her bedside, rubbing his hands and worrying. What could he say? What did he even do? Did he come here too fast?

“Mamá Coco...” He could tell her anything, right? “They might tell you stuff later, but when I said I didn’t want to be a part of this family…” Did he tell her he didn’t mean it? He did, at the time, but that didn’t mean he wanted to not be her family. He loved his Mamá Coco. “I still love you, and I always will.”

Mamá Coco moved a little, and her eyes only barely opened. Miguel swallowed, and the tickle in his throat sweetened his whole mouth. “I’m sorry, Mamá Coco, I didn’t… wait...”

Her eyes opened wider. “Miguel?”

She could see him?

She could see him!!! Miguel nearly screamed as his face split into a big smile! She could see him! She could probably see how silly he looked, with his skeleton paint and bone hands! “Mamá Coco! Hola! You won’t believe what happened!”

“Miguel!” She said it again, reaching up her hands to his face. They went right through him, and Coco just kind of dropped into her whenever he tried to hug her, so it was a weird little dance of trying to find out where to put his face so he could talk to her.

“You won’t BELIEVE what happened!” he told her. “I found your Papa’s guitar!”

“Papa?”

“Si, and I went to the Land of the Dead! And your Mamá’s there, and Papa Julio, and all the people on the ofrenda are there too! And-” Miguel gasped and smacked his head. “Aye, I forgot Héctor’s photo! Wait even if I had it I can’t put it there-”

“Papa?”

“No, Mamá Coco-” He backtracked. “I found a guy, his name is Héctor! He plays guitar and he dances, and he saved my life from an evil crow that was trying to eat me!”

Okay maybe he was telling Mamá Coco a little too much, because she was actually listening, and she was getting a weird look in her eye. Maybe he should start from the beginning.

As he started putting the thoughts together, the tickle in his throat stopped… and started going the other way. The itchy sugary taste tickled all the way down to his feet, and when he looked down, he saw his feet dissolving like sugar in water. The weightless feeling was coming back- he was already leaving?! Oh no!

“Um- I’ll be back later!” He talked as fast as he could. “So don’t worry about me! I’m okay! And Héctor’s taking care of me, and so is Salvador Limones-”

Mamá Coco just kept grabbing for his face. “Papa!”

“-and yes! Yes, I’ll find you papa, don’t worry!”

“Papa!”

“Yes- Mamá Coco I’ll find him, me and Héctor, I will-”

He felt the calavera under his hand, and suddenly he was bad into the air, flying out of Mamá Coco’s room and into the sky. Drifting on the wind, he thought to himself the important questions. If he ate more sugar skull, would he be able to stay longer? Did he have to time it during the day to see the rest of his family? Why was nobody in the house? How was he gonna tell Héctor the photo plan wouldn’t work? It would break his… ribs? Whatever. He got to see Mamá Coco again! And he had four years to work with Salvador Limones and Héctor to get back to life! And that was, like, forever from now! That was graduating from school forever far away! Miguel actually laughed a little. This wouldn’t be so bad!

Everybody was on him as soon as he landed back at the L.S.A. room. Eva and Salvador checked him over from every side, making sure he was all in one piece. Once they were through, he tucked the calavera into his pocket and pulled out some of the food. “Check it out!”

He was expecting somebody to maybe joke a little, or laugh, because the mood had been kind of dour when he left but not that bad. Héctor grabbing his arms and shaking him was a surprise, in a bad way. “What did you do out there?!”

“I saw my great-gran-”

Héctor held up his arm- his broken arm that wasn’t broken anymore! Héctor patted and grabbed at it to show off the fact it wasn’t split up the middle. “No, you don’t get- _will you look at this_ , Miguel?!”

“It’s not broken?”

“It’s not broken!” Héctor pulled at his hair. “I don’t know what you did!”

“How’d you know it was me?”

“I mean, I don’t _know_! But it happened when you flew out of the room with that cursed sugar skull!”

Miguel pulled his jacket possessively close to his body. “It’s not cursed! I got to see Mamá Coco with it!”

Héctor stopped in his tracks. “ **Who?!** ”

Eva and Salvador stepped back. Héctor had never sounded like that the whole night Miguel knew him. It kind of chilled his spine, and Miguel shook. “M-my Mamá Coco… my great grandmother? She’s…”

Little pieces came together. Miguel reached into his pocket for the family photo: Mamá Imelda, baby Mamá Coco, and the headless body of his great-great grandfather in the torn corner. He unfolded it, and showed it to Héctor. “Look, see, that’s Mamá Imelda. She’s the one who hates musicians because Ernesta de la Cruz left them to-”

Héctor dropped to his knees. Eva and Salvador leaned in above their heads, taking in the sight.

“Miguel.” Salvador spoke up, as if he just had an idea. “What is your family name?”

“Family name?” Miguel parroted. “… Miguel Rivera?”

Héctor started to laugh. “I called her a burro...”

He had? Who? Miguel didn’t- oh right, way back when they first met, hours ago. Miguel had told him that Mamá Imelda wanted him dead instead of playing music, and he said maybe his family were just… wait a minute but... “Um-”

“You can’t tell her...” Héctor giggled. “She’d kill me. She’d find a way to kill me all over again...”

“What are you-”

Héctor turned the photo and pointed to Ernesto’s body. “That’s _me_. My name’s Héctor Rivera. This is why you think Ernesto is your great-great-grandfather? Coco’s _my_ little girl...”

“Well, what do you know?” Eva piped in. “Fel-leasy-dades.”

Salvador smiled warmly and gently nudged Eva with his shoulder. “Felicidades, Eva.”

“Is that how you say it? Thanks.”

“Wait, you’re...” He… wasn’t related to Ernesto de la Cruz? Instead, this guy- Héctor who watched after him and stood up to him from Xibalba and told him stories and danced with him, who wanted him to be a musician… was his family? He had family here, in the Land of the Dead, that really liked him?

Miguel was gonna cry happy tears. He jumped into Héctor’s arms and gave him the biggest hug, which Héctor returned with a happy grito and a big spin! “I told her your name! I said it and she kept saying ‘Papa! Papa!’ and I didn’t know why!”

“I thought I had nobody left other than her!” Héctor told him. “I thought she was my only living family left! I have a grandson! I have a _great-great-_ grandson!” Héctor planted him right in front of Salvador and Eva. “Salvador, Eva, have you met my grandson?”

Miguel was giggling as Eva and Salvador shook his hand all over again.

“I suppose this changes your reservations on relocating to Rubacava,” Salvador guessed.

“Eh,” Héctor shrugged. “What’s a little move when your family is with you? You bringing Dante, Miguel?”

Miguel was so happy he nearly lifted Dante off the floor. “Got him!”

Eva saw them off with a wave, and as they set off for the end of the tunnel, Domino was taking stock of how thoroughly wrecked the Department of Death had become while he wasn’t looking. He lit a cigarette near the pneumatic tubes and the insides went up in flames. He found a rope of ties outside of Don’s office window and tiny footprints of bird crap outside the window ledge. His desk had been rifled through; his playing cards and lucky coral were missing. Computers all over the building were flagged as having been accessed within the last two hours. They were down a car, and a mechanic. All of it was stuff he could handle… but it was the man who caused it that really ground his teeth. He scoured the building and cleaned and cursed his name, not knowing that people were passing underfoot at that exact moment.

The walk felt so short, but when Salvador opened up the tunnel into the world outside, the sky was blue. All around them were trees, smooth concrete trees almost like the pillars under bridges, sunk deep into dusty dead dirt. The Petrified Forest wasn’t “petrified” so must as, maybe, cast. Miguel barely climbed out. The long walk had been so dull compared to the rest of the night that all the long hours kind of caught up to him at once. Héctor was right behind him, and Salvador brought up the rear.

“Rubacava lies to the east, amigos.” Salvador turned off his flashlight. “I will not lie; it will be a small journey from here to there. I suggest you find a safe place to make camp before-”

The forest roared like a jet engine before Salvador could say another word, and out of the shadows came a real beast.

A giant shining silver engine. Big rear tires that squealed against the dirt and kicked up a huge cloud. Exhaust pipes that shot flames. In the driver’s seat, a giant hairy monster sat at the wheel as it braked hard beside them, and sitting up in the passenger’s throne above him…

Was just this skeleton in fatigues, gripping at the armrest. He relaxed when he saw Salvador. “Hola, Sal.”

“Ah. Hola, Manuel.” Salvador started again. “Miguel, Héctor, this is Manuel Calavera, our Special Operations Field Agent.”

“Was I keeping you waiting?” asked Manuel. “Didn’t mean to hold you up; getting to this point took me a lot longer than I expected. But hey, check this out!” He threw his arms out, showing off the enormous car. “Glottis got us some wheels.”

The big orange monster waved at them. “Hi!”

Miguel waved back, because for a giant hairy orange monster, he had an awfully friendly smile.

“That is indeed an excellent development. But, I must task you again, Agent Calavera,” implored Salvador. “These two are victims of the Department of Death, much like your Meche. I would ask that you bring this man and his living grandchild with you to Rubacava, and find them a safehouse until the boy can be returned to his living family.”

Manuel leaned back in his seat. “You’re lucky you caught me before I left the forest, or I wouldn’t have believed you telling me I had to babysit.”

“Hey, we’re on the run!” Héctor corrected. “The D.o.D. is trying to kill us!”

“Oo, us too!” said Glottis the monster. “Hey, we’re like a club now!”

“Aye, Glottis, save the enthusiasm for something a little more positive, will you?” Manuel nodded his head up to the upper seat. “Get on up here, you two, I’m sure there’s a flophouse somewhere in Rubacava that allows pets.”

Héctor and Manuel climbed all over the back of the supercar while Glottis tucked Dante into the main body with him. Miguel put himself between Héctor and Manuel, and nearly laughed out loud, because Manuel was almost shorter than _him_. “Gracias, Señor Calavera!”

“De nada, kid.” Manuel waved him off. “And ‘Manny’ will do fine. I think I lost ‘señor’ privileges when they canned me from the D.o.D.”

“Why is everything about the D.o.D. tonight?!” Héctor groaned. “I swear, after tonight, I never wanna hear a thing about them ever again!”

“I can only hope so myself, my friends.” Salvador saluted them from the ground. “To your new lives in Rubacava, everyone! Godspeed! Y viva la revolución!”

Miguel knew he was in for something good when Glottis fired up the car and the radio at the same time, and they flew out of the forest at full speed and full volume, leaving El Marrow far behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't feel right going into a seven day work week until you guys had Manny, so now you guys have Manny.


	11. Into Rubacava (Héctor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Héctor might as well get to know the guy who's putting them up for the indefinite future.

Glottis called in “The Bone Wagon.”

In Héctor’s mind, it was more beast than machine. It spouted plumes of flame as it rode, and it roared like a diablo. He couldn’t hear himself screaming over its wild engine. He knew Calavera was screaming, too, just from how his jaw waggled over every bump on the long drive. How Miguel could smile through the whole thing, he had no idea. It was almost like being reaped all over again, as the unearthly car whisked them all away from everything he knew. He has never set foot outside of El Marrow in his years and years of being dead… Rubacava may as well have been another country.

For all the whispers he had heard about the port town, it looked like a fairly normal city to him. He had maybe never left El Marrow while he was dead, but he traveled plenty when he was alive. Compared to the eternal glow of La Muerte’s personal royal party palace-turned-metropolis? Everything smelled like saltwater, the buildings hardly went higher than ten stories, and nobody was out on the street. A faint breeze steadily blew in from an unseen ocean. Glottis took them from the outskirts through the city center at a comfortable little putter, looping them around a massive arena before setting off in another direction than what they came from. Héctor could finally catch his breath again.

“Hey, mijo.” Héctor reeled a little. He had a mijo now! He turned over to show his grandson his first- well, second- big city of the dead. “Miguel, hey, look at this!”

Miguel was asleep.

Héctor fell back into the bench seat. “Who could fall asleep after that?”

“The rest of Rubacava is,” argued Calavera. “Gotta work off the collective hangover of Dia de Muertos.”

Héctor felt that. “I am tempted to write all of last night off as a bad dream, you wouldn’t believe...”

Calavera reached into his jacket for a cigarette. “I’d pinch you, if you still had skin. Want one?”

“No gracias, Señor Calavera.”

“Manny, hombre, Manny.”

“Manny… I have a grandson, Manny...” Héctor took a long breath to laugh. A great-great-grandson he never knew… who never knew him. Didn’t recognize him… He didn’t feel like laughing anymore. He felt more like he was going to collapse into himself. “Coco never told him about me...”

Manny took a long drag. “Must not be the talkative type, this Coco.”

“I’ve been trying to see her for almost a hundred years...” Héctor wanted to crumble to dust on the spot. Miguel had spent the entire night trying to get home to his daughter, and neither of them recognized each other. No one, living or dead, told them a thing.

Had he taken too long? Had Coco felt his absence? Did she think her papa abandoned her? Maybe he should have taken Xibalba’s offers… maybe four years of letting Coco know she was loved would have been enough…

“Por favor, hombre, pull it together,” Manny chided. “You’re making the Bone Wagon pull, you’re such a drag.”

“No he isn’t!” Glottis innocently protested. “You’re just being mean!”

“All right, I concede.” Manny took another long puff of cigarette before he spoke again. “Look, it sounds like you’ve had a hard death, right?”

Héctor nodded. “Yeah...”

“But it’s death, hombre. You’ve got time still. Besides, you got this little guy here.”

“Why is he alive, anyway?” asked Glottis. “That’s kinda weird.”

Héctor told them the whole story as the demon drove them and out of Rubacava’s backroads and main streets. Miguel, Imelda, the contest, the alebrijes, even Xibalba and his magic sugar skull. His time limit, and how he thought he had it… and now didn’t really know how much more opportunity he had left. Glottis’s eyes never left the road, but his little wiggling ears always stayed trained on Héctor and Manny. If Manny was shocked by any of this, he never showed it.

“If I were him, I’d take a huge bite and just vacation in the living world for a month.”

Héctor felt a pang of loneliness just at the thought. He covered Miguel’s ears. “Don’t give him ideas! Thank goodness he’s asleep… where are we going?”

Manny tried to answer, opened his mouth and everything, but Glotis answered first. “We’ve gotta save Miss Colomar!”

“Hijole, Glottis, quiet down! You’re gonna wake up all of Rubacava!” Glottis hadn’t even been that loud, but Manny pinched the bridge of his nose like the statement itself hurt him. “Agh...”

Was Calavera flustered? Héctor ventured a guess. “You’re all the way out here looking for a woman?”

“You really shoulda met her,” said Glottis. “She was so pretty and nice, and her voice was all soft. You woulda liked her! She’s the kinda person that you could tell anybody would like, right on the spot!”

Héctor watched as Manuel Calavera, special agent of the L.S.A., sank lower and lower into his seat like he wanted to crumble into dust on the spot.

“She must be very important to you,” Héctor guessed.

“She deserves the world,” said Calavera, low and miserable. “That and more… better than what I gave her.”

He could feel that deep in his bones. Héctor sighed. “I know the feeling.”

Calavera tried to shift in the seat and straighten himself up. “But I can’t get her out of the mess I made being down on myself. When she gets to Rubacava, I’ll be here waiting for her.”

He told his own story on the long drive through the rest of Rubacava, looking for Miss Colomar. He had been a Reaper, and a damned good one in the figurative and literal sense. His life had been spent… ambiguously. Not evil enough for divine punishment, not good enough for a normal afterlife. La Muerte changed him with his position at the Department of Death to karmically reset himself and earn his passage into the Ninth Underworld. It worked, until there was a change in management, and then it didn’t. Now he was a secret agent with a demon best friend on the run from a corrupt government agency that wanted him dead, and he had a woman to save.

“I feel like you’re leaving stuff out,” said Héctor.

“I’ll save the fun parts for when the kid’s awake,” Calavera dodged. He jostled a bit as the Bone Wagon came to a stop. “Hey! Why are we stopping?”

Glottis had parked them at the port. Fog covered the whole place like a blanket, so only the tallest and brightest landmarks could be seen. It was probably telling that they stopped at the base of a set of stairs leading up to a diner. Glottis confirmed the suspicion. “I’m hungry.”

Héctor smiled. “I could eat.”

“You could,” said Calavera. “If I had any money. But we can probably ask around and see if Meche’s taken a ship out of here without me.”

He and Calavera climbed out of the car, leaving the sleeping Miguel in Glottis and Dante’s care. Héctor asked, “And if she hasn’t?”

“Then we ask around for a good temp job.”

“Oh jeeze...” Héctor bemoaned. “We really are here for the long run, aren’t we? And I’ve got a kid to feed, you’ve got a demon...”

Calavera was at least a little more upbeat about it. “Glottis will get a job just fine. He’s got trade skills. But there’s no way to feed a family of four on a demon salary.”

“What do demons get paid?”

“Between zero and nothing hourly. With no vacation days.”

Héctor winced. “That’s awful! How come nobody’s told me this before?”

“Probably the same reason as me: you never a-AA-”

And for the second time in two days, Héctor slipped off an edge and dropped into the ocean, with Calavera following fast after him.

The port’s dockmaster could only shake his head and sigh. “Tourists...”


	12. Holding the Line (Manny Calavera)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peek into life at the diner, once Manny gets his hooks into it.

On the third of November, Manuel Calavera was the newest bus boy in Rubacava’s only automat diner.

By the beginnign of the next pay period, he was the head line cook, and in charge of training the newest delivery manager.

“All right, gordito,” he called out. “Glottis will be back in five! You got Velasco’s order?”

Miguel dropped each food into its little delivery box, and each box in its bag, as he replied. “Fried fish, sopapilla, lemonada, sir!”

“Toto Santos at the scrimshaw parlor?”

“Three chicken tamales, sir!”

“The dessert plate for the ladies?”

“Two flan, tres leches, y pan de higo, sir!”

Miguel kept his smile on the whole time. It wasn’t like the kid was going to really work; the usual delivery guy had to leave in a big hurry, and Manny happened to have him handy to pick up the slack until the end of the shift. It was only a couple of hours. To Miguel, this would be a fun game and a chance to earn a cut of the newly-started tip collection. To Manny, it was a way to keep a bored twelve year old from sneaking out without his shoe polish on to practice guitar on the curb. To Glottis, it was the chance to work again after he got turned down for the Sea Bees, even if it was just as a part-time delivery driver.

The delivery thing was new too, and Manny kicked himself for not thinking of starting it until a few days ago. It got profits up almost double within a few days, which meant he could get Héctor out of hiding in the backroom apartment during the day and into his old busboy job. Héctor owed him for it, too, after spending his first advanced paycheck on a set of interview clothes and shoes for him.

The assistant line cook hollered. “Lengua up!”

“On it!” Manny answered. “Okay, kid, off you go!”

Miguel grabbed all the bags with a little grito and shot out of the back door. Weaving in and out of customers milling outside, he flew down the staircase to the parking garage and hit the concrete just as Glottis pulled up in the Bone Wagon. “Three for you, Glottis!”

“Got it!” Glottis swapped Miguel’s bag for a fat bundle of bills. “And here’s the tips! Maximino says thanks- oh! And he wants Manny to call him after work!”

Miguel stuffed the money into his pocket as he was running. “Okay!” He made that hike up the stairs faster than ever- “The bigger the tips, the faster you run” was the rule- and put the stack directly in Manny’s hands. “Here’sthemoneyMaximinowantstotalktoyou!”

“Yikes” was the only thing he’d let Miguel have for now. Maximino, head of the race track and biggest spender in Rubacava, wanting to personally talk to the line cook at a diner that sold cow tongue tacos? Granted, they did have the best lengua in Rubacava. He added that to the mental list of innuendos he’d been collecting since he started this job. “Noted. All right, kid, next batch! Glottis will be here in five!”

Not even passing the duties off to day shift hours later took his mind off that vaguely threatening request for a call. It wasn’t like he could keep it a secret, either. He, Héctor, Miguel, Glottis, and the dog all shared that backroom apartment, and they all got off work at the same time. Once day shift rolled in and they all retired to that windowless, frying-oil-smelling room, Miguel started spilling the beans to his granddad.

“I made so much money today, Papá Héctor!” Miguel threw his hoodie onto the armchair he slept in and gave Héctor a big hug. His facepaint ended abruptly at his neck; his arms had faded out up to his elbows, but his torso and face were still solidly alive. “Senor Maximino at the race track gave me like seventy dollars-”

“Hey, hey, volume!” warned Manny. He’d barely even gotten his apron off and the kid was already yelling. “The manager’s right on the other side, you know.”

Glottis, petulant, argued. “He gave me the money first.”

“Why are you- does the manager still not know we started tip-sharing?” asked Héctor, a note of panic in his voice. “You said you were gonna tell him.”

Manny replaced his apron with a tie. “I’m waiting for the right moment.”

Héctor wrung his hands in his dumb straw hat. “The right moment is before he finds out you’re keeping it secret and we get fired!”

“Relax. I’m on top of things. Miguel, go face off your face so you don’t scare your abuelita. Héctor can have the shower before me.”

“Oh...” Héctor sincerely smiled at that. Getting first crack at the hot water, and on a day it wasn’t his turn, was a surefire way to get back in his good graces fast. Not that most of the dead ever needed to bathe, but if they didn’t, the smell of oil might soak into their bones. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m gona buy some dimes and make a phone call.”

As they were speaking, Miguel hurried to the bathroom and scrubbed the shoe polish off his face as fast as he could. As soon as he was clean enough not to scare the daylights out of his Mama Coco, he took Xibalba’s sugar skull out of his hoodie pocket. It had grown a visible dent through its temple even with only a few licks taken a day. Miguel waited until Héctor nodde dhis approval before taking his daily taste and disappearing into a whiff of air. Héctor immediately dropped his voice to a whisper (like Miguel was even still here to hear him) and asked, “Are we in trouble with Maximino?”

Glottis, at normal volume, butted in. “I don’t think so. He looked real happy to me!”

Manny cut back in. “Get your shower in, Héctor. I’ll let you know. Hey Glottis, come drive me.”

It was a quick trip to nab a buck from the tips and buy a handful of dimes with it. Glottis drove Manny a long way out to the docks, where Manny pocketed the dimes and asked Dockmaster Velasco to use his phone instead. It was free, if crusty, and hard to trace back to the apartment. The operator got him connected to Maximino within a few transfers.

“This is Maximino,” said an aged, cigar-weathered voice. “And I’m very busy.”

“This is Manny Calavera,” he said. “And you prefer butter on your tortas instead of mayo.”

It could have been a secret code, for how warmly Maximino received it. “Ey, there! So you’re the guy making waves down at the automat. I’ve got high rollers down here talking about your business savvy.”

“I’m just a line cook,” said Manny. “You wanna talk business, I can put you through to the manager.”

“That weedy little yutz wouldn’t know business if it walked up and bit him in the eggs. There’s a name being whispered all around Rubacava, and it ain’t his, Manuel Calavera. It’s yours.”

Manny’s throat ran dry. He pulled at his shirt collar while Maximino kept on. “I wan you to check out my place over at the track. Let’s have a few drinks, talk business together. It’ll be nice to finally have some intellectual conversation in this dumbass port town.”

This could go in a lot of ways, and a lot of them were bad. To be fair, he thought to himself, he couldn’t be blamed for getting attention around town just for being promoted at his diner job. It must have really been a slow news week. Either that, or Maximino had more on his mind than buttered tortas.

“Set a date for me, Maximino,” said Manny. “And maybe a chair for my plus one.”

“I got plenty of room at my place, Calavera. Bring the whole staff if you want.”

“In that case? Three more chairs.”


	13. Letters (Salvador Limones)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sal gets letters.
> 
> A short one.

In the weeks since little Miguel’s departure from the L.S.A., Salvador Limones had been hatching plans and pigeons. His soldiers of the revolution, a sibling pair Eva had named Little Manny and Little Meche, had grown swift and strong, and within a few days of each other, he had his first correspondence with his two field agents.

_Hola Sal,_

_I’m writing from a little hole in the wall diner in Rubacava. Serves mostly sailors and the like. Miguel and Hector are with me, and we all found work. Keeping the dog fed. Leting Miguel practice his guitar. Glottis gets to drive. Things are pretty good all things considered. No sign of Meche yet. Tell Eva I said hi, and ask her if I have any messages. She’ll get a kick out of it._

_I’ll send word right away if I find Meche, and if not, expect a letter once a week or so._

_Manny_

_P.S. Miguel and Hector send regards. Miguel said he wanted to help with the revolution. Enclosed is ten bucks._

Eva did not laugh as Manuel had promised, but the envelope did indeed contain a very tightly folded bank note. It warmed the cockles of his heart, and strengthened his resolve to see his revolution through to the bitter end.

The next letter came written on both sides of the small page, hidden safely in the tube tied to little Meche’s leg.

_Agent Limones,_

_I have completed the mission as you ordered. Every track left by Miguel and Hector Rivera in the Petrified Forest has been erased. My three days observation period saw the alebrije pantera returning every single day, multiple times on the third along with Hurley’s crows. Intelligence informs me that they are running surveillance rather than actively tracking. The D.o.D. has effectively lost the two of them._

_I am now keeping an active watch on Agent Calavera and his charges. They don’t recognize me in street clothes, but I’m keeping my distance and not engaging. I don’t like seeing the boy being put to work in the kitchen, but the activity seems to keep him from wandering around unsupervised. He sometimes sneaks out at night to play guitar without waking the others. I have been steadily following after him and clearing his tracks from the ground, in the event that Hurley furthers the search for him. Otherwise, erasing their physical presence has taken minimal effort._

_However, Agent Calavera’s competitive streak is drawing attention from the locals. He’s agreed to a meeting with LeMann’s contact Maximino in the gambling circuit. More information as the situation develops._

_Los Ojos_

Salvador grew concerned. “Eva. In your experience with Agent Calavera-”

Eva cut him off. “What’d he do?”

“He gained employment at a restaurant.”

“Good luck to the other guys,” Eva explained. “Manny hates having anyone else on top of him. Trust me, I know. He will claw his way to the top of the pecking order then start building stairs out of the rubble.”

He wasn’t sure he liked the imagery of that comparison. Perhaps he should begin a letter to Agent Calavera himself, warning him to keep his ambition in check, lest he endanger his mission to recover Senorita Colomar. Keeping a low profile was pivotal to surviving in this treacherous time.

His final letter came not from a pigeon, but from the dead drop station at the D.o.D.’s post office box.

_I have Mercedes Colomar._

_La Mana Derecha_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came back to writing this fic after a million years and found this chapter. Forgot I'd even started it...


	14. Back of the House (Mercedes Colomar)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meche can ignore how awful her afterlife has gotten, so long as she has Maria.

Meche’s life was blessed in the strangest ways. She lived withotu riches, but with an abundance of love and generosity. She died of simple chickenpox, but her nurses were tender and sweet up through her final sleepy moments. Even in death, her guardian to the afterlife had been suave and charming… even a little cute, for a skeleton.

And even here, stolen from her long walk to the Ninth Undereworld, held hostage by famous singer-songwriter celebrity Ernesto de la Cruz… she had Maria.

Their work with De la Cruz’s empire kept them busy in a lot of different ways. Meche was no stranger to organizing- soup kitchens were hectic places- but Maria was invaluable in her gentle assertive way of commanding people. When there were no concerts, there were private events and parties, and when there were no parties? There was inventory.

Decades of Dia de Muertos’ worth of inventory. All sorted one by one, by type, by value, by shelf life, and by hand. Her hand. Day after day after day...

Meche had to lay her head down on the table.

A gentle hand fell on her shoulder. “Qué pasa, pobrecita? Do you need a rest?”

Meche pulled herself back into her chair and looked up into Maria’s calm, lovely face. She was always so good to her. She must have had a wonderful life… She wasn’t a captive of De la Cruz like Meche was, and Meche never burdened her with the knowledge. Every night, Maria went home, and every day she returned and treated her like a lifelong friend…

She shook her head, jostling the thoughts and the tears out of her head. “N-no, Maria, I’m fine.”

“look, if you need to nap, I don’t blame you.” Maria chuckled and took up another guitar. “You’re only doing the worst job in El Marrow.”

That got Meche to smile. Today’s task had been Maria’s idea: having ‘Ernesto’ autograph every guitar he had played during his many private shows. It was an easy way to clear out the guitars he received via his ofrendas, and it gave them something to do together. Maria would tune, and Meche would sign, and the hours would fly by as Maria told her stories and jokes. It was hardly the worst job in El Marrow!

Meche felt it needed to be said. “It might be, if I didn’t have you with me.”

Maria giggled into the back of her guitar. “Stop! You’re making me blush!”

Meche could feel the little tickle building in her belly. “I couldn’t tell.”

That made Maria crack up into a high, bubbling laugh that tripped Meche over into giggles. Her gilded cage had its moments; she was blessed in strange ways.

Ernesto and a few of his stagehands flew through the side room door in a flurry, rapidly changing the singer into his next costume. He barked out, “Maria! Powder blue!”

With a put-upon sigh and a roll of her entire head, Maria thumbed at a far pile of guitars, “Row C, guitar number 2, marigold pattern.”

A stagehand gasped. “Marigold?!”

Don Copal’s body crunching and cracking and blooming into flowers flashed in her mind. Meche shuddered and put the thought away. Far away.

Maria shrugged. “Orange goes with blue.”

Ernesto huffed and shoved past the shuddering stagehand to grab the guitar. “Whatever, so long as it’s tuned!” He parted in an entirely new, powder-blue suit, dropping his previous guitar on top of the one Meche had been signing. They left as they came, fast and flustered.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. Meche was already timid enough for the both of them, and Maria never reacted well to being dismissed. They needed a more… neutral topic.

Meche whispered, “Is it because marigolds are out of season?”

Maria sucked in a soft, quick gasp. “Oooh, you don’t know yet. Flowers are a symbol of death here.”

The idea gave Meche pause. “But we’re already dead.”

“Exactly!” said Maria. “That’s why flowers mean death to the dead. Nothing signifies that you’re forever gone from living memory like rotting. Returning to the soil...” She waggled her fingers for emphasis. “Pushing up daisies...”

If Meche still had her skin… The memories pushed against her the more she tried to deny them. The pain on that man’s face, the horrible sounds of bones splitting… that kept her from breathing a word to Maria about her captivity more than anything. Meche felt faint.

Maria’s hand, once again, came to rest on her shoulder. There was no soft smile this time, and no quick easy joke on her tongue to cut the tension. Maria’s gaze went through her, as if cracking open Meche’s mind.

“… but you knew that, didn’t you?” she asked. “You’re too nervous not to have… You’ve seen it? Someone being _sprouted_?”

Meche couldn’t speak a word… but she could nod.

“Where?”

“I can’t...” Meche whispered. “They could come after me… they could come after _you_.”

“So long as I’m by your side,” Maria promised, “No one will so much as touch you.”

“Maria...”

“Wait until De la Cruz comes in for his next guitar,” Maria said. “Then tell me everything you’ve seen. Names, places, even what kinds of flowers, anything and everything.”

“I-I don’t know much...”

“I’ve got you, Mercedes. Trust me.”

Meche did, with all her heart, but she was so nervous her bones were rattling. She was lucky, in one way, at least. She felt like she couldn’t breathe… but at least she didn’t have to.


	15. Maximino's Offer (Manny Calavera, mostly)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Riveras and the Calavera get a much deserved vacation from working at the diner. Glottis is there too.

Money flowed into Rubacava like water. If anyone ever asked where it all went, it was a surefire sign they had never been to The Track. Manny knew Héctor and the kid hadn’t been, and if Glottis had been he would have talked about it. So after a couple weeks of calls back to Maximino, wrangling his days off, and a suspiciously well-timed hiring of a few experienced cooks who looked overdressed for the interviews, Manny got the whole bunch in the Bone Wagon for a nighttime trip to The Track.

Maximino’s place had it all. High ceilings, food, live music, and at the center of it all (literally and figuratively) was the race track. Dozens of races were held a day with nothing else to do in town but put money down on a name in the roster and hope for the best. Maximino made it all worth the trip by painting up the massive coliseum with spectacle. The rich royal colors on the walls and the glimmering lights were enough to entertain the everyman used to Rubacava’s faded palette, and even then, Maximino promised more. You wanted to stay all day? The food was oily and hot and cheap. You wanted to drink away the sorrow of a loss? The drinks flowed free and the waitresses’s skirts ran short. There was something for everybody at Maximino’s.

Unless you had kids, Manny thought to himself. Then you turned into a stick in the mud.

“If I had _known_ ,” Héctor groused, “That you were taking use to a casino, I could have stayed at home with Miguel and Dante.”

“But look how cool it is!” Miguel pleaded. He already started running to join the crowd, only kept in check by Glottis’s long arms reaching out to catch him. “It’s just like El Marrow!”

“That doesn’t make this place _good_ ,” Héctor said in a hush. “It just makes El Marrow sound _bad_.”

And he’d gone through all the trouble to dress them nice… He’d even managed to find a shirt and pants for Glottis so he wasn’t strutting around the track in his garage coveralls. He had gotten Héctor a waistcoat to shape his torso a little, and Miguel a poncho and Peruvian hat to hide his ears. He nearly fought them over picking a purple and bright red one respectively, and por favor Héctor would never ditch that stupid straw hat, but in the end he needed them to wear anything that didn’t smell like frying oil.

Manny took a drag of cigarette and had a thought mid-inhale, almost choking on a laugh. “Hey, Miguel, play me an overwound g-string.”

Miguel immediately pantomimed the noises and all, tuning the g-string on his guitar until it popped and smacked him in the face. Everyone except Héctor had a good laugh about it.

Héctor pouted, “That’s not what I sound like...”

“Look, just go and remember how to have fun,” Manny teased. “Or did your sense of humor die its Final Death a long time ago?”

“It- that is in _poor taste_ -”

Out of the crowd, a bit out of place in all the throngs of people in blue kitty-eared hats, a waiter approached them. A proper fancy sort, with a tray and an arm towel, he greeted Manny with a little bow. “A Monsier Calavera and three guests?”

“That’s us.” Manny held his hands out to his little group. “Ready to be swept off our feet.”

“Hola!” said Miguel.

“Ooo, Manny! He’s got a towel!” Glottis’s ears wiggled. “You think they hand out towels in the bathroom too?”

The waiter pulled such a face, a perfect blend of masked emotions and outright disdain. Manny almost laughed. “I am sorry, monsieur, but children are not allowed into the lounge area.”

“You heard him!” Héctor cheered. “Let’s go home!”

“But I don’t wanna!” Miguel begged. “I wanna see the races!”

“And I’ve still got a job interview, Héctor.” Manny straightened his tie. “So you’re stuck here.”

Héctor groaned.

“Well, I’m off to see the wizard.” Manny waved as he departed. “Keep an eye on ‘em, Glottis!”

“OO!” Glottis roared. “That means I’m in charge! You know what we should do?”

Miguel grabbed Héctor’s arm. “See the races?”

“Nooo, we should grab some tacos and _then_ see the races! I bet I could smuggle you two into the cheap seats down in the demon section.”

“Yeah, Papá Héctor! Let’s be sneaky!” Miguel was already bouncing. “And get sneaky tacos!”

Héctor, sensing defeat, relented. “You are all bad influences on Miguel.”

“No they’re not!” Miguel playfully pushed at him. “Besides, you stole a lot of stuff last Dia de Muertos!”

“That was when I had to-”

The never-ending natter went on as Manny Calavera was led to an elevator. The sound of the crowd evaporated the second the doors closed. It felt like being whisked away into another world. He and the waiter disappeared into a labyrinth of red walls and patterned carpet. The helpful waiter- and probably assigned escort- led him all the way up to Maximino’s door without so much as a glance in his direction. It put Manny on edge. He could never trust a situation where he wasn’t allowed to talk, either explicitly or through the world’s loudest body language.

Maximino’s office was like a cool glass of water. Open, clean, and lit by a vista window, it was something almost wholesome in how welcoming it was. Even Maximino himself, because who else could it be standing in the moonlight, seemed like a big cuddly bear surrounded by all his memoribilia of cats and kittens.

This man was dangerous.

“Maximino, I presume.”

“Nice to meet you face to face, Mr. Calavera.” Maximino turned to face him and waved him over. “Come over here with me. You get to enjoy the best seat in the house.”

“Seems more like the best stand in the house.” He did, though, and cast his gaze down through the window. It was a perfect view of the track. Lines clear and clean, jockeys mounting up, all framed in a sea of bright purple hats. Down on the turf, in the demon section, he could spot the bright orange wedge that was Glottis’s head, and he chuckled.

“If only I was down there.” He lit a cigarette. “I’d pay good money to see the look on the kid’s face.”

“I wish I’d known you’d be bringing a kid,” said Maximino. “I would have put aside some seats for ‘im in the stands. High Rollers Lounge is no place for an angelito.”

How he knew without Manny mentioning it was a mystery for later. Guy probably had cameras and microphones all over. Manny would have to watch his words. “I wish I knew too.”

Down on the grounds, Héctor could see the look on Miguel’s face, and he took back what he said about wanting to stay home. Maybe working night shifts was getting to him. Casinos had always been something to shy away from in life, but… maybe this one had some upsides.

One of the upsides now was Miguel flipping his lid. “LOOK AT THE GIANT CATS!”

Every time Miguel thought he was used to living with the dead, something new jumped out at him. When he heard races, he thought cars, and sometimes the mariachis at home talked about dogs. But here, the races were cats! Giant purple cats were were taller than Glottis and big enough to ride!

“Weren’t expecting that, huh?” said Héctor.

“Why didn’t you tell me!?” Miguel launched himself at Héctor to shove him. “We could have come here sooner!”

“Hey, hey, watch it up there!” Glottis shook them both; they were up on his shoulders to get a better view over the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd of other demons. “If you fall down, there’s no room to pick you back up!”

Miguel was almost shivering in joy. “You think they could eat me?!”

“Híjole, Miguel! Where do you get these ideas?!” Héctor ruffled his hat.

“They might, though!” said Glottis. “Miguel still has meat!”

“My head could fit in their mouth! CHOMP!”

“Miguel!”

“Guys, look, look at this one!” Glottis pointed to the lead cat, proudly trotting onto the turf. “That’s the one they talk about on the radio, I know it! That’s Sanspoof! She’s got a win percentage of 89%!”

“Are we supposed to cheer for the cat,” asked Miguel, “Or the guy riding the cat?”

Héctor shrugged. “Listen to your heart, mijo.”

Miguel kicked his feet out and shouted. “Then we gotta cheer for Sanspoof!”

“Yeah!” Glottis agreed with a jump. “We should do the FUA!”

“YEAH, I haven’t done that since I was like five! ESO ES EL FUA!” Miguel cheered.

“What are you even talking about?!” Héctor could barely breathe for laughing. “C’mon...”

The stands roared as the announcer introduced the cats, and it rattled the glass up in Maximino’s office.

“Thanks for the invitation, all the same. I know the kid’s down there having the time of his life.”

“He yours?”

“Nah, he’s a nephew.” It was close enough. “I’m watching after him until his father and him are ready to pass on. This doesn’t change the offer, does it?”

“Depends. I need a man who isn’t so easily tied down for this job. Just watch. It’ll be rolling in soon.”

“The job?” Manny scanned the grounds. “You’re not offering to put me in a roach coach, are you?”

Maximino sincerely laughed. “Cute! Hey, maybe you can stick your old manager in one of those once you’re done with him. No, Calavera, look _up_.”

The moon disappeared. He knew, because the room plunged into darkness within half a second. Manny’s throat ran dry. There were no clouds in the Land of the Dead. He dared to look up.

Big enough and close enough to blot out the sky, a massive dirigible hung over the track like an invading moon. A long running light display along the sides cast the stands in green and blue light in pulsing flashes. They spelled out words in dots: “OLIVIA”. The crowd below hollered at the spectacle, and grounds lit by the glittering reflective eyes of the cats and demons.

Manny could breathe again. “Nice balloon.”

“Isn’t she a beauty?” Maximino glowed with pride even in the low light. “She’s the Olivia 1. A luxury cruise for two: with spa, honeymoon suite, and of course a five-star restaurant.”

“Must be a very special Olivia,” said Manny.

“She’s second only to La Muerte herself.” Maximino put aside his cigar. “And I need the best men in town to make sure she’s treated right during our two week honeymoon.”

“So you want me to run the restaurant?”

“I want you to run the ship! Taking orders from me, of course, but I can see your potential from here, Calavera. You’re leadership material.”

“Much as I’d love to take a ride in your beautiful balloon-”

Maximino made the kind of noise one made at a mild pun.

“-that’s a room-for-one kind of deal. I still have my plus-three to worry about.”

“It’s only a temporary gig, Calavera,” Maximino assured him. “Two weeks! The kid’s got his father with him. Once I give my Olivia her ring and her Double-N ticket, it’ll be a straight shot from here to the Ninth Underworld.”

He didn’t want to have heard that. He hid his flash of panic behind a drag on his cigarette, and Maximino filled the void with talking.

“Pretty brilliant, huh? Skip that whole ‘married life’ mess and enjoy the honeymoon all the way up to the final reward. If she was more interested in the kitties, I might have stuck around, but she made a great case for making our way to the end of the world.”

He couldn’t concentrate. Not with- with that hanging out in the air. “You _bought_ a Number Nine ticket?”

Maximino took his cigar back between the bursts of blue and green. “I put in the deposit on two, one for each of us. You interested in that kind of money, Calavera? You do this job right, and you could get in above ground floor with my kitty track here. You’ll be working under my replacement, of course, but you could thrive here.”

Maybe he should take the job. Maybe, if he left a letter for Meche with Héctor, she would wait for him while he followed this lead. He would have to plan this out with Glottis- and let Salvador know.

“Give me a day to think it over,” said Manny.

“You have two minutes,” said Maximino. He pointed with the chewed end of his cigar. “She’s here.”

As he watched, the balloon’s display blinked solid green, and the text changed. The stands went blue with the broadcasted message: “OLIVIA, WILL YOU MARRY ME?!”

Here was the danger, and he walked right into it. “You don’t do things by halves, do you Max?”

“Never,” he said.”

A black smudge crossed his vision for a split second, and Manny almost blamed it on an eye floater before he remembered he didn’t have eyes anymore. No, it was something outside, darting across the light display. “You see that?”

“It’s just a sea bird, Calavera. We get ‘em here all the time. The cats take-”

He saw the light before he heard the kaboom. A streak of yellow, spreading across the top, and then running down the seams of the balloon in blazing bright white. The pops that followed it were small, snapped, like thunder but too short and too close to be. It cracked the windows. It shook the cat knickknacks onto the floor.

The stadium turned to daylight as the _Olivia 1_ went up in flames and dropped.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh jeeze I didn't know what I was getting into with the accent marks...


End file.
